Caught In The Web: Astyrian Conflict & Intrigue (IC/Closed)

[Romberg]

Alpine Forest
Southern Glisandia

A small group of Venatores hurried to make sure their trap had been laid correctly while they directed their GGA troops this way and that. The massive bulk of the Rombergian Army was advancing only a few miles away, oblivious to the fact that hiding beneath the pine trees here lay a welcoming party in the form of three Type 63 multiple rocket launch system, each with all twelve cylinders full with a mix of HE, frag, and incendiary munitions. The majority of the rockets were HE to hopefully penetrate the armor of the enemy, but since munitions of this caliber were difficult to come by in this corner of the world, the others would need to fill in and hopefully cause a bit of damage as well. The frag rockets would be especially deadly if there were some soft skinned vehicles hit, but the Venatores knew better than to hope for too much.

And so the men scattered off to their little hiding places in the snow, long cables extending from their hideaways to the launchers strategically placed just far enough apart to cause a bit of strain on the counter-battery fire and deny them the luxury of massing their barrage against a single target. The Venatore leader of battery A peered out through his binoculars, remaining still and silent, one hand raised just slightly in a fist next to his body. He remained in this position for several minutes before, with a sudden violent action, he yanked his hand downwards. This was the signal, and a GGA trooper nearby pressed down on the red button on the joystick in his hand and then made a break for it. As the men scattered into the wilderness, an electronic pulse was shot through the cable attached to that joystick, travelling its way to the artillery piece hidden some distance away and igniting the propellant, one after another, of the rockets within its tubes. With a horrifying series of shrieks, thirty six warheads screamed into the sky before reaching their peak and turning downwards to slam into the foreign force that was continuing to make its way into Glisandian territory.

(OOC: Losses discussed with BC)
Birds darted out of the trees, a small sign of life in the otherwise barren snowfield near the trees. Then, a few seconds of ungodly silence as the fuses burned. In a deafening roar, the rockets leapt out from the tree canopy, heading straight towards the convoy. Surprisingly given the condition of the rockets and the environment, there were no misfires or failures. But ultimately being an outdated design and made of worn units, their accuracy left much to be desired. Even though the rockets were well within their operational range, many missed. Still, by sheer numbers alone, it was impossible for them to not hit anything.

"Incom-"

A rocket hit a fuel tanker, immediately engulfing it in flames. Others could only look as the driver burned helplessly inside, his screams piercing the calm afternoon air. Another supply truck was hit - knocking it out of action and causing serious shrapnel injuries to its occupants. They would later succumb to their injuries. Then just as the fleet moved to isolate the burning remains of the tanker, another APC was hit, dealing significant damage to it, and causing injuries of various degrees to its occupants. Shrapnel damage also hit several other vehicles as well. Fortunately, as most of the convoy was armoured to various degrees, further losses were not too high. Another rocket came close to tank, spraying pebbles and loose snow into the air, but the heavy armour of the tank negated any damage. Several other vehicles may have been hit, but were nonetheless in more or less driveable condition.

"We've been attacked!" a radio operator frantically called Brigadier Ingersson.

"Then leave no quarter. Secure our folks, give them hell."

She knew of course there was little hope of directly defeating a guerilla force, but then fear was a powerful tool; besides with them being constantly on the move until final victory was achieved, attrition should be manageable even with harassment along the way.

In a matter of minutes, three multiple rocket launchers turned their launcher packs, and with the command of an officer, launched their rockets in the direction of the unseen enemy. Being of much higher caliber and quality, they were a descendant of the infamous Katyusha of the Second World War. And in deathly whistles, all 120 rockets left their launch vehicles, carrying a large amount of ordinance towards the target location. Then, another three self-propelled guns turned, firing another 15 rounds of high explosives accurately onto the target.

By the time the smoke cleared, all that was left of the former firing location was a large crater, with burned, broken logs strewn over. And in the middle of the place were bits of mangled metal, hardly distinguishable.

"Keep your heads up, folks. They've just fired the first shots. We're going in hot. Make sure all magazines are loaded and that you have close access to a weapon. If they decided to resort to hit and run, then we'll make sure they can't run once they hit. Stay on guard. We're going on the offensive. No more complacency. Always be on the lookout, and use suppressive fire if you're not feeling safe. Our cover is more or less blown. Prepare for a full war."

The solemn message was heard all over the convoy, as night fell. There was much little time to set up camp now - they were going to be on the move as much as possible. Only stopping to refuel and pick up air-dropped supplies. And even then, under heavy guard. They were now going to hasten the pace, hoping to seal the Yellowsian pocket once and for all.

[Serretes]

The Confederate Consulate
Saartholm, Serretes
August 20th, 2015

Uhtred the Younger paused for a few seconds before answering the question. “My father gathered as much from the speech. He is more curious as to why? What interest do you have in defending Serretes? Other than the obvious thwarting of GHawkinian interests in the area.”

The consul could not help but smile as his Serreten counterpart spoke. “Of course, thwarting Ghawkins is always a benefit to us, but more important is the self determination of nations. We understand that many of our own beliefs make us an anathema to some in the region, and as such we understand the feeling of being outcast or oppressed. And assisting our fellow Christian states is not just lip service. It is the duty of the strong to defend the weak, and that is what our Chancellor intends to do.”

The red faced bishop looked over the surrounding office, curious with the wealth and status of the Consul. He moved to speak, Uhtred cut him off. “If it is Christian nations you seek, you will find none more Christian than us. You may ask Bishop Æthelred.” The old man bobbed his head in approval, before Uhtred continued. “We appreciate this extension of friendship, but we are not so weak. If you help us in any manner, it is a mutually beneficial action.”

“I did not mean to offend, I apologize for my poor choice of words Captain. Of course, the benefits would be mutual. I must ask though, just what it is exactly you were looking for when you gentlemen decided to pay me a visit on such a lovely day.”

“You did not offend, Consul. My father wishes to know exactly what your government wants, and what we can expect in return. He does not sit idly.” Uhtred paused. “ We dislike GHawkins as much as you and your people; we are not so open with our sentiments.” He stumbled over the last word. “We are such a small nation, we can not risk offending our neighbors, in that we do not have the same liberties as say a nation of your size.”

It only now struck the consul that this was potentially much more than just an average meeting to clarify the purpose of the Chancellor’s speech, and he cleared his throat before he spoke. “Well, you see, it is entirely possible that you could have the liberties of a nation our size, Captain, as we can...be sure to stand behind you, should that be what you want”

Again, the bishop moved to speak, and again Uhtred stopped him, this time with a wave of his hand. “I think that maybe we see similarly on this issue. But then again, we cannot risk anything at this point. Already GHawkins is eager to take our captives from us, filling our markets with products that are not our own, generally trying to change the old way of doing things. To anger GHawkins now, will not go well for us at the time. I know now that you are willing to vouch for us, defend us if need be; but how far is the Blackhelm Confederacy really willing to go to defend the rights of Serretes? An alliance between our nations is much too provocative, it is practically a declaration of war.”

“The Confederacy is not frightened of a war, although I can see why that might be...disconcerting for some. And I understand your position, it would indeed be a large move for the time being, perhaps something we can discuss at a further date. I do, however, think now would be a prudent time to discuss some kind of economic package out. You mentioned that GHawkins has been dominating your markets. What if we can provide some kind of a subsidy, and an agreement to purchase a certain amount of Serreten goods per year?”

A third man answered. “We understand this; your armies are large and well trained. We are much closer to GHawkin’s than you are, we fear that they could take most of the country before your first men were on our shores. An economic package may be exactly what is necessary for the time. All we have to provide is agricultural goods and foodstuffs. If this will shut down GHawkin importation, we are more than willing to supply you with all the foodstuffs you need or want.”

“Beef is a relatively difficult thing to produce in a jungle nation such as ours, as I am sure you might be able to assume. If there is some way, perhaps, that we could inject a certain amount of capital into the Serreten beef industry, that is certainly doable. Other meat as well would be welcome, and I am sure that there is a strong market for your wheat and barley as well. The wheat industry, I am prepared to offer a substantial subsidy to, as we can always use more of this. We can subsidized those two, the others we can work on a separate contract for, if this is agreeable.”

“Cattle are raised here; maybe not in the number you desire, but we will provide as many heads of cattle as possible. A massive increase cattle is not possible for various reasons; we will stop exporting beef to others, and begin exporting exclusively to the Confederacy. We should be able to meet at a happy midpoint. We should have no trouble providing all of the barley and most of the wheat that you desire.”
Uhtred the Younger spoke again. “And this will slow down the rate at which GHawkins fills our markets? I am not so well versed in economic matters. Regardless, the Serreten agricultural industry should easily sustain any Confederation desires for beef or wheat, at least to the best of my knowledge.”

“The influx of money into those industries will allow them to reduce their prices in the Serreten market, making them better able to compete with the cheaper products from Ghawkins” the consul said, answering Uthred’s question. “And as for other...more technological matters. Are there any fields, perhaps in arms or communications that the Confederacy can assist you in. We realize the difficulty of your geographic location, and we would like to be able to alleviate some of this grief if possible.”

Uhtred replied quickly, before any of his associates had a chance to speak. “We need weapons. Assault rifles and the like. My men are under equipped, as are the rest of the military forces in the country. Communications are not a major concern for the time; as far as I know. I do know that the Church of Serretes is starved for the appropriate amount of precious metals for chalices, pyxes, tabernacles, the like.” The Bishop’s eyes lit up, he smiled for the first time, revealing the toothless grin of an old man.

The consul smiled as well. “Now we are getting to some business here. We can offer you the AR-2 or the AR-3 to use, and your men can field test each to see which is most suited for your current forces. We have plenty of other equipment in our catalogue for you to peruse, as well as the associated advisors than may be necessary to train your men in their use.” He then turned to the Bishop and nodded “and it does happen that we do have significant deposits of gold in the Highlands, platinum as well. Perhaps there is some kind of agreement we could come to for some steady shipments?”

Uhtred replied, “We will have to examine the rifles later. I cannot say I know enough about either to make a choice for SEREA.” The third man, the economic representative, shuddered with the mention of SEREA. “Training my men to use these is not so much an issue, as long as we have the actual equipment.”
Bishop Æthelred spoke eagerly. “Yes, I am sure something can be arranged. I must say I am rather partial to gold, platinum is not proper enough for a Church of Serretes. What type of arrangement where you thinking of? We are building a new Cathedral here in Saartholm, as you know, and the interior lacks the necessary amounts of gold.”

“I was thinking about the possibility of renting some of the church’s currently unused land. We will pay our monthly rent in gold for your cathedral, and I can assure you that the Confederate government will make excellent use of the area.”

“And what will you do with the lands of the Church? There are a few islands that belong to the Church that we are more than willing to lease.” The Bishop smiled again, Uhtred grimaced before allowing his face to return to his normal, disinterested expression.

“I was thinking of possibly establishing a simple listening station. It will be co-manned by Serretens, of course, to disuage any fears of espionage against your own state, and it will be of a great benefit to our own nation. This wouldn’t be a military base, so it should not draw any serious ire from your more aggressive neighbors to the south.”

Uhtred nodded passively. “I think something to this effect can be arranged. I will speak to my father as well as the Pope; they will make the final decision on the listening posts, it is not within my power to do so. This has been much more productive then I had hoped, I really muct return to my father and his council. I am sure I will see you again in a few days with his replies.” Uhtred offered his hand.
The Consul leaned forward and shook it happily. “A very productive meeting indeed. I look forward to speaking with you again soon” he said, happy to have set in motion what could be in the future an incredibly important deal between the two nations.

The Serreten delegation filed out of the office, a different guard escorted them through the bowels of the embassy building and into the screening room. They collected any confiscated possessions from earlier, before walking outside and meeting back up with the security detachment. Uhtred turned to the Bishop. “I would appreciate if you did not offer away our lands at so cheap a price as a Church named for your patron saint.” He spit. A larger party of grey uniformed men joined them now, and they pushed back towards the residence of the king of Serretes.

[Blackhelm Confederacy]

The grainy footage of a snowy forest began appearing on websites and social media servers across Astyria. It started out with a handful of men jabbering on in their native Glisandian tongue while religious music played in the background. The men, almost knee deep in the snow, were gathered around what seemed to be a metal box on wheels beneath the trees. Upon closer inspection, it seemed clear that they were loading and readying a multiple rocket launcher for attack. Finally, the men ran from the device, and a number of shouts of "God is Great!" and "Christ is King" were heard before the weapon began unloading rocket after rocket into the sky as the camera shook from the cameraman's excitement. The angle then shifted to another view, one that allowed the viewer to watch as thirty six 107mm rockets slammed into the Rombergian convoy as it rolled across the open tundra. The fuel tanker was clearly visible exploding into a giant fireball as the truck was sent into the sky, and explosion after explosion sent snow, dirt, and metal fragments into the air creating a dramatic effect for the viewer. All the while, the chants of "God is Great" and wild cheers were heard from the cameraman, heard of the faintly playing music in the background.

Of course, the Rombergian counter-fire was edited out of the video. There was no use showing that the enemy had an even mightier arsenal when you were trying to win a propaganda war. The video resumed from yet another angle, this time after the attack had settled down. It showed the Rombergian medevac helicopters, zooming in as best as possible to get footage of the bleeding, wounded Rombergian Royal soldiers being brought into the helicopters or limping around the burned out hulks that had once been their trucks and APC's. This time, there were no words, only music playing over the video as the camera panned this way and that, the cameraman doing his best to capture the chaos inflicted upon the now stalled force that was trying to bring itself together for its continued push into Glisandia.

The GGA was quickly becoming incredibly media savvy, mostly through the covert assistance of the Blackhelm Confederacy's Venatores, and increasingly brutal videos of mass executions, beheadings of Yellosian troops, and all manner of other atrocities were starting to pop up across the world wide web as the now self styled "Thrandee" began to take more and more ground. Other members of the group were being provided with various calibers of sniper rifles and trained in how to use the tundra to their advantage, outfitting themselves with their own camouflage and using the skills many already had from growing up hunting and combining them with what they learned first (for many) during their time with the Glisandian Army and then from the Confederacy's elite operators. Things would soon become increasingly hairy for the invading Westerners as the Venatores did their best to train and equip their Christian brothers without ever being seen, and even know GGA snipers began to make their way through the woods and into towns on the invasion paths, preparing to do what they could to slow down the advance of the ATO and their cohorts. And of course, these snipers all carried camcorders attached to their scopes or, when available, in the hands of their observers, to make sure that the world saw every single kill they inflicted. This fight was not about actually inflicting a mauling on their enemy. It was about breaking the will of the foreign public, and convincing them to demand their armies withdraw from the country, lest more of their sons and daughters end up on the internet, another victim of a snipers bullet or artilleryman's rocket.

[Blackhelm Confederacy]

NORTHWESTERN AGRINCOURT

Benidikt Dagmanur had spent a good portion of the decade as George Henson, an Agrincourtian import/exporter. So much so, that he thought even his deepest thoughts as an Agrincourtian, in English, rather than his native Yellosian. He had been called up more often on recent occasion to put his deep cover at risk for his true employer, the RLO, the intel agency of the Yellow Star Republic. Knowing the current situation with his home country, with the whole region aligned against them, he expected that his days were numbered. He loathed to answer the secret satellite phone, as it was more than likely the Teningur, expecting him to further risk his cover for whatever task that they deemed essential to the war effort back home.

Yesterday, at one of the appointed, cleared times, he received a message. Translated from the code, it had been simple: ‘Prepare for visitors’
No other explanation had been forthcoming, so he went about clearing space for guests among his overstock that hadn’t managed to make it to the warehouse in his modest villa in the Northwestern Agrincourtian town. A few dozen kilometers further on lie the border with Kamalbia. Due to the instability and constant chaos that threatened to pour over that border, the Agrincourtians kept a good force to keep the warlords, drug gangs and smugglers at bay, even though they were fully committed to the war on their southern border with Casegene. Henson was far enough removed that the border patrols and constant interdiction didn’t interfere with his operations. A small accepted number of convoys were let through to both sides from the Kamal border and he had a special permit to visit the zone in order to receive and send shipments.

Currently, he was moving boxes out of spare rooms in the villa, when there was a knock at the door. He looked out, peeking through the curtained portal and sucked on his teeth as he took in the sight.

A small group of men wearing rather nondescript clothing made their way to Benidikt’s villa in their black Diamond Star Katla. Upon pulling out, all five stepped out and rapped on the door, waiting for their contact to answer. The first man, wearing a blue and white checkered shirt looked back at the others. “This fuckin guy better be home” he said in his native Latin.

Benedikt paused as he reached his front door, standing off to the side by the reinforced glass block stacked in the frame. He studied the group through the window. He felt to his back waistband where he had a small Glock tucked into his belt, under a loose unbuttoned white cotton shirt. He also wore light, breathable khaki slacks. It was common dress for the arid, suburban area.

He couldn’t leave them out there for long as it would trigger neighbor curiosity of why there was a burly group of men on his step, but in his line of work, odder things ended up on his doorstep. He spoke through the door,
“Can I help you gentlemen?”
They should respond that they were with Tritech International, the agreed upon fake cover company.

“You have a delivery from Tritech International” the man in the checkered shirt said through the door. “You need to sign for it”

“Just a minute.”
He cracked the door, then finally opened it all the way. Speaking in a lower tone,
“Quickly, get in here. Don’t stand out there too long. I have some very nosey neighbors.”

The men quickly filed into the door. “Can’t you just tell them we are some friends over to watch a football game?” one of the men, in a black tee shirt and khakis, asked before the checkered shirt one raised his hand to silence him.

“I believe you know why we are here, yes?” he asked the Yellosian.

“George Henson. Yes, I got word just yesterday. It was not very informative, other than to expect you. I can make up some kind of excuse for the neighbors later. I’m not that worried.”
He waved to a spacious living room, where wicker furniture was on a light red tiled dais upraised from pile carpeting all around the edge. Local art hung on the walls, both domestic and the tribal Kamalbian variety from ancient civilizations come and gone.
“Take some seats, drop your bags. I was just clearing room. Tell me what you can.”

Four of the men went to their seats, while the fifth, wearing a white and blue soccer jersey of a local team and a pair of cargo shorts, moved over to further inspect the art. “Each of us here represent a different area of interest for the Confederacy. As I am sure you can tell, he is in the Kamalbian office” the checker shirted man said, motioning towards his friend still standing. “It would be most beneficial for us if we could gather whatever information you might be able to provide us. Agrincourt, Ghawkins, Glisandia, Kamalbia, and Terre des Gaules. Whatever you can provide, we will appreciate. “

Henson was physically shaken, and had to put a hand out to the wall to brace himself. The other hand double checked that his Glock was at the ready. The Confederacy? He knew they were foreigners, neither Yellosian nor Agrincourtian, but he hadn’t quite registered their accents before their leader confirmed their origin.

The YSR were still at war with...well, with every Confederacy in Astyria. It was obvious to him now that it was the gruff accent of the Blackhelm Confederacy that he was hearing. He had heard some deep rumblings that something was in the works with a former enemy. It took him some moments more to process that these men weren’t making any move to outflank or overpower him. He needed to fill the silence before it got too awkward:
“I...I...I think I understand. Information? Yes, yes...I think I can help you out. Just, um...Can I get you gentlemen drinks? I have water, soda, beer, rum…?” He needed to get to his sat phone to text back to Control. It was actually sitting on the kitchen counter, by the cutting board. He needed to hear from himself that he was to work with the dreaded Confederates. He was a trained agent and had often enough experienced the old adage that politics make strange bedfellows, but this was straining his credulity. As the Agrin-Casegene war came to a close, more media focus was put on the remaining conflicts in Astyria, in Insula Fera, Andamonia and Lorecia. You could pick up any paper and read how the Coalition, including the Blackhelm Confederacy, was getting within striking range of Northern YSR.

“I think we are all ok” the man in the checkered shirt said. “Just give us the information we need, and we can be on our way.”

Pretension of getting drinks shot down, Benidikt wasn’t interested in coming up with new excuses.
“Right. Just a minute.”
He walked into the kitchen, keeping an eye on the Confederate agents through the portal that looked out over the countertop into the living room. He picked up the encrypted sat phone lying next to the sugar bowl and typed codes into it until he was on the false front network set up to communicate with Control. He typed in furiously.

They are here. Possible CIS. Is this right?

Yes. Same side now. Do whatever they request.

Understood. I will comply.

He put the phone down, suddenly a little enraged at the implication and his bosses. He’d said he ‘understood’, but really, he did not comprehend this situation at all.
His cover was being put at risk for these flash in the pan allies, who as far as he knew, their government had still been attacking YSR forces recently and the homeland itself. It was very possible that whatever else they might request of him would put him in further jeopardy. He had no choice. If he refused Control, the Teningur, they would hunt him down, making sure he was eliminated soonest. A burned agent.
He walked past the living room.
“A couple more minutes, I will have your information.”

He walked into his office and lifted up a rug, revealing floorboards. He knocked on one, then pushed it to one side, then shifted it towards him until he heard a click. He pinched and grabbed the board, revealing a stash underneath. He reached over one box in the floor to knock the lid off a second box. It was filled with flashdrives. Copies of what was in the first box. He went to scoop them up, then thought a moment. He replaced the lid, then lifted free the whole box. He would cooperate to the fullest. It was no longer the old regime, his old boss was now the Director General...The highest power in the Republic. He walked back in and dropped the box on the coffee table as he turned to face the man with the checkered shirt.

“That’s what I have. All of it. Info on suspected RIA, RIS, GSA, NESA and BGSE agents here, in Casegene, and Kamalbia. Really...Almost any foreign intelligences’ agents that I came into contact with or sniffed out. Contacts with Kamal warlords, vulnerable Agrin officers, other foreign nationals of interest. There’s no RLO store of everything. Not here anyway. This is what I was tasked to do and what I have. You want more...you talk to your bosses, who talk to my bosses, who get you someone else who has more. Was there anything else you boys needed?”

The CIS agent was surprised by the amount of information the Yelllosian had just deposited in front of him, but quickly regained his composure. “You have copies of all of this I presume, yes? Whatever you have copies of we will need to take back with us.”

“You have all the copies of what I have there and am authorized to share with you. Those copies were supposed to be picked up by a courier a few weeks ago. That’s why I happen to have them ready.”
He didn’t bother to get into operational detail about why the RLO network was in obvious disarray with the war going so badly up north. The CIS would undoubtedly know that.

He sorted through the drives a bit and nodded before lifting the box and rising from his seat. “A pleasure doing business with you….friend” he said before signalling to the others and leaving, the others filing out behind him. And just like that, just as abruptly as they arrived, the men were gone once again, each heading to their respective posts with their veritable treasure trove of data to sort through.

Benedikt sighed, sitting in one of the vacated living room chairs after showing the CIS agents out. He had a lot to contemplate.

OOC: Work done as a joint collaboration with YSR

[Nikolia]

(OOC: The post is written in cooperation with Glisandia)
Early March, 2015
Carigrad, Nikolia

Carigrad, one of the oldest cities in Nikolia, was not only known for being a capital city, but also known for its diverse architecture throughout the city. One of the best examples is Tsar Stefan II Boulevard, where most of the embassies are located. People are often amazed by the diverse architecture of this boulevard, from the Rombergian embassy which is constructed in a traditional German style, with well ornamented facade, to the GHawkins’ glassy modern embassy. But today, the attention of certain people were pointed towards one embassy.

An orange rotating klaxon light started glowing on the corner of the brick building, and a big black fence slowly started retracting to the side. It revealed two black SUVs, bearing the black, green and blue flags of the owners of the building, the Royal Glisandian Government, as they crawled out of the garage and onto the street, immediately turning left as they vacated the building. Driving per the prescribed speed limit, nevertheless the vehicles caused the people’s gazes to follow them as the vehicles moved swiftly throught the semi-crowded streets of the Nikolian capital, Carigrad. It took them no more than fifteen minutes to reach their destination, which happened to be the building of the Nikolian aerospace manufacturer, Kaminski. It was a colossal modern structure located directly in the business centre of Carigrad. This part of the city was often called “The Aircraft Quarter” as many Nikolian aerospace manufacturers were located there.

Ambassador Bjarn Reczkowitz looked out onto the Carigrad streets as they journeyed to Kaminski, wondering when he would get to see his homeland again. Not that he didn’t enjoy Nikolia, with its cosmopolitan Mederanite appeal, or that he was unaware of the bleak, stark waste that had become of the Duchy of Glisandia; but all the same, he ached for home. Home was friends and family, some possibly gone due to both the harsh occupation of the Yellosians, or to the fanatical retributions of the GGA.

The capital of the Duchy, Rikijdrottin, was actually still under occupation by the Yellosians, and so he represented a government in exile, at some points in the Aurora Confederacy, sometimes in Nouvel Ecosse. Until recently, the only representation inside Glisandia proper were the resistance fighters that still swore loyalty to the Royal government. Two regiments worth had been scraped together to aid the Coalition troops in their liberation of the Duchy.

Thousands of troops of the PRA, the Yellow Star Republic’s conquering army, were digging in now, trying to avoid the barrage coming their way from many more thousands of coalition troops of several Astyrian nations. It was a cause that had brought together a diverse and often dissonant mix of nations, both Eastern, Western and neutrals. Even the Rombergians had committed a sizable force to the coalition. An irony considering that Glisandia had been their former masters and there was still some bitterness over the break.

Some Glisandian towns had fallen with nary a fight, and some had become absolute bloodbaths. It was still a long way to Rikijdrottin, and progress, despite the thousands of multinational troops, was not promising. It was felt by the Duke and General Hankonssen, the leader of the resistance, that Glisandia needed a proper air force again. This time with aircraft that were potent to their neighbors, both to cleanse Glisandian land of intruders, and also as a future deterrant should any neighbor decide again to invade the ‘easy target’. Hence their negotiations with Kaminski.

A good part of that negotiation would be carried out by Major Kjol Dombrussen, the military attache of the Royal Glisandian government. A government that was still in exile from it’s traditional capital. It was fortunate that the YSR had not even bothered to lobby to replace the old Royal Glisandian embassy personnel with their own puppet personnel, who would most likely have only a passing veneer of Glisandian citizenry. Now, such concerns from Arkjelstad were fleeting when the Yellosians had already lost half of Glisandia to the liberating Coalition that was battering them.

There were a myriad of issues to tackle, some involving the occupation and normalizing relations again in anticipation of full control of the Duchy once the last of the People’s Red Army of the YSR had been evicted. What was really in the forefront of Dombrussen’s mind though, was rebuilding the Glisandian Air Force. The Major was in fact one of a handful of Air Force personnel posted to overseas embassies and it had been a major blow to learn of the complete decimation of the RGAF within one day of the YSR invasion. He was determined to not let that happen again and build the RGAF to beyond it’s former glory - one that could hold up to any modern Air Force in the region. They needed the best modern planes, and they needed personnel that could fly them, at least until a new force of pilots could be trained. Intel was pretty clear that any pilots, crew or ground personnel that may have survived those horrific first air engagements had not survived the captivity afterwards. Many more remaining were killed as they fought as simple ground resistance fighters during the first few months of the occupation. The Major would more than likely hold a higher rank now, were it not for some Colonels and the two RGAF Generals that were with the Government in Exile.

So, with the blessing of the Duke and encouragement of General Hankonssen, he turned to a fellow monarchy and ATO supporter, Nikolia. Today might very well be a historic day. It might also be one shrouded in mystery as some of the ideas that had been floated were to be kept between the two nations once put down to a document, or at least kept within the alliance.

The Major kept a neutral face as he mounted the steps of the front offices of the large military aircraft manufacturer, where both Nikolian government and Kaminski company personnel awaited at the top of the steps, inside glass doors, to greet them. There were no media about, as both parties had agreed that any such coverage and attention paid would go straight to the RLO and jeopardize future plans. He was certain though, that the Nikolians would have agents about in the shadows, making sure everything went smoothly.

Awaiting the Glisandians in the hall was a group of people, consisting of members of Kaminski’s Administrative Board, the Minister of Defence with his assistants and a team of experts from the Nikolian Military Technical Institute. As they killed some time by chatting about casual topics, they were interrupted by the sound of the slide doors being opened in order to let in two persons that had just stepped out of the black vehicle that rolled in front of the building. Following the military code of conduct, the man to the left took his hat off as he entered, only to reveal his grey hair. The man was indeed dressed in a blue Air Force uniform. His companion to the right was a man of normal height, balding with blondish white hair and dressed in a black suit. Only when they approached, the awaiting group realised that the persons that just entered are indeed the men they were waiting for, the military attache and the Ambassador of Glisandia. The men approached the crowd, and in good English the Major spoke first,
“Good afternoon! I am Major Kjol Dombrussen, of the Royal Glisandian Air Force. This is Ambassador Bjarn Reczkowitz, as some of you may know. We are most pleased that you have invited us here today.” He didn’t get more specific than that, as the rest would come naturally.

The Nikolian Minister of Defence stepped forward in front of the crowd in order to welcome the couple. He shook hands with both and replied:
“Gentlemen, I am glad that you finally came, I am Vladislav Lazic, the Minister of Defence of Nikolia.” He paused to take a breath then continued: “Now that you are here, let’s do business. Please, this way.” He said as he pointed with his hand towards the hallway that led towards the meeting room.

It took them no more than one minute to reach their destination, a spacious meeting room, with the big round table in centre, encircled by leather chairs. The room was decorated with old pictures of Kaminski airplanes and the factory plant itself, and a couple of small model aircraft of Kaminski, lined up in chronological order. At the north side of the wall, there was a big Kaminski logo mounted on the wall, and directly beneath it were two silk flags, Nikolia and Kaminski’s flag, both mounted on flag stands.

The Ambassador and the Major filed in to the room, glancing at the walls and the adornments. It was a typical corporate conference room, and the Ambassador had been in his share of a few, the Major, quite a few less. They sidled up to a couple of the leather chairs. While it was customary to wait to be invited to sit, they were both anxious to get started, and began to sit in the two seats, straightening out and getting comfortable.
The Ambassador took the lead and spoke up,
“Sorry for my abruptness, Minister Lazic, but I would like to get started.”

Major Dombrussen looked around for beverages, either on a side table, or possibly they would have to wait for a server. He had a briefcase at his side, and brought a tablet up to put upon the table. It was an encrypted Schwyz Logiztek model. While it was far beyond what would be issued or capable of the Glisandian government, it had been a gift from the Neu Engollians and served the Major well, along with several of his peers that had also received them.

As the Nikolian side entered and sat on their part of the table, Minister Lazić glanced at Colonel Ivanovski, the head representative of Kaminski design bureau and signalled him to start. As he recieved the command, Colonel nodded back and stood up from the chair. He approached the giant 80’’ screen planted to the right, took a remote controller standing on the table, and with a couple of commands issued to the screen through it, the screen was now showing a presentation.

The first slide was showing Kaminski’s KaF-35 jet fighter, its description, history, versions and performances.
The Colonel took a breath and started:
”The first product we are going to present to you today is the KaF-35 and its variants. This aircraft was a breakthrough in aerospace technology for our company. We gave a tremendous effort to make this aircraft a decent opponent to the aircraft that appeared during its era. It is the first aircraft of our company that had fly-by-wire technology, which was rather new technology at the time. Currently, we are selling the latest standard variants, such as the KaF-35K, the variant specialised for naval operations, as well as its heavily modernised version, the KaF-37.” He then paused for a moment to take a sip of water, then continued, while switching to the next slide showing the KaF-37 specifications.
-”The KaF-37, the latest variant of KaF-35. As the KaF-35 was produced in the early 1980’s, just as the technology started to develop, together with technology, our company developed newer, better planes. During the big economic crisis in early 2000’s, our company lacked funds to design new aircraft, therefore we turned towards updating our old products. We started experimenting with KaF-35, when we realised that the aircraft is extremely modular...”

Major Dombrussen was listening to the demonstration. Occaisionally, he took notes. He caught a glance from the Ambassador Reczkowitz across the table, who was not very adept at military technicalities, being more concerned with the human factor of how their nation had been effected, and would win the war. The Major gave him a slight nod to let him know that everything was well and aptly described. This was what they were looking for to restock and rebuild their air force. This would help to put them on the right track to dominating their own skies once more. The Major re-focused on the presentation, with a glance or two down at his notes and the handouts the Kaminski people had given out to go along with the presentation.

“...one of the key elements of the KaF-37 is advanced and enhanced electronics systems. We will present the cockpit characteristics of the KaF-37.”
The Colonel then switched to the next slide showing the photograph of the cockpit.
-”As you can see, the cockpit’s main feature are four advanced HD LED displays mounted on the instrument board. Two smaller ones are exclusevely for flight and navigation instruments and they can be set to display instruments currently in need of the pilot. The other two screens are multifunction screens and they can be set to display various electronic systems of the aircraft. From weapons manager to radar and FLIR. The displays can be easily controlled by a set of keys located on the edge of all four of the screens, or with with advanced X-Y cursor located on the throttle stick. As many modern aircraft, this one also includes HOTAS as well as the latest specially designed helmet-mounted display HD-155 Svetovid...”

The Glisandian Major followed along. He had reviewed a bit of this beforehand, having researched Kaminski’s literature and studied up on the aircraft. It was definite that they would be getting some of the KaF-37s for the Air Force, and would in fact, build their tactical squadrons around the multi-role aircraft. It was possible they might get a few KaF-50s, too, but the verdict was still out on that. If it weren’t for the aid package from their new ATO allies, the Glisandian delegation wouldn’t even be here at Kaminski today. They would be shopping out ancient MiGs or more F-15 Eagles to replace those destroyed during the Yellosian blitz from some shady arms dealer. That and the initial guarantees from the Nikolians that they wouldn’t have to have all the money up front for the aircraft was reassuring.

“...the KaF-37 can carry a range of weapons systems, among them is powerful 27mm MANAR cannon designed by the Riysian High Command.”
As the presentation was well underway, the Nikolian officials were chatting among themselves from time to time. One of the assistants leaned towards the Minister of Defence and said with quiet enough tone not to disturb the presentation:
“Sir, i am not sure how the Rombergians will react to this deal as they’re not quite friendly with the Monarchists from Glisandia, y’know, history and all that…”
Minister listened carefully, smiled then replied
-”Oh Ilija, don’t be silly, you do remember that Noordenstaat used to be a part of the Nikolian Empire? Well look at it now, being one of the most developed nations in Astyria, having good relations with most of the nations without Nikolia oppressing it. I don’t think the Rombergians would be THAT mad at us, after all, it’s just history!”

“Well, i guess so…” replied the assistant, then returned to listening to the presentation.

Major Dombrussen glanced over to the Ambassador next to him, who seemed to be shifting from annoyed to diplomatically polite and back. The man was way out of his element. While Dombrussen had attended countless technical military briefs such as this one, the Ambassador on the other hand, was able to see the bigger picture and make sure to describe to allies how Glisandia fit into their picture, but knowing the intricate electronics of advanced aircraft was well beyond the man. Ambassador Reczkowitz looked back at the Major, his fellow countryman. He whispered at a low register,
“I hope you’re getting the most out of this, as I can’t seem to keep up.” Not that the Ambassador had much intention to,
“Shouldn’t you be taking notes?”

“No sir. It’s all in these handouts.”

“Well...then what the bloody hell are we listening to all this for?”

“Well, sir. It’s still very helpful to have the information gone through where certain details...where I can question and pick apart certain points myself directly from the creators’ mouths.”

“I see. I can understand that. I just hope that my presence is warranted here...For this part, I mean.” There was other business to attend to with Minister Lazic.

“You represent the government, while myself...I amnot representative of the political side of the government. We need to represent a well balanced acceptance both militarily and politically, of a fellow ATO nation and the weaponry and aid they can give us...That is, if we are on board with the ATO?”

“We are on board, Major. Well put. You should consider the diplomatic corps someday.”

“I don’t think I could take it, Sir. I also think the rest of my life’s work will be taken up rebuilding our air force capability and seeing that we can get back to a position of defending ourselves again.”
The Major looked around, as if aware that their conversation might be detracting from the presentation. He tried to show that he was attentive to the Colonel again, although he was sure that their side conversation had been more than a bit distracting. The Ambassador, as well, turned his visage, if not his full attention, back to the presenter.

“Now i am going to present your our latest aircraft, multipurpose fighter aircraft KaF-50…” Colonel said and then he was interrupted by Minister Lazic, who was also a General - a requirement for the Nikolian Minister of Defense.
“Colonel…” he took a breath and continued “Keep this one short, we don’t need a full history of the jet!” Minister laughed then leaned back on the chair.

“Yes sir!” Colonel responded, then browsed through the presentation to the slide that was showing electronic systems of the KaF-50.
He then took a breath, glanced at the Glisandians, then started: “One of the key components of the KaF-50 - on which we’re proud of, is its advanced electronics.
The standard layout of the cockpit has no conventional instruments, instead, it has three large full colour multi-function head-on displays which can be manipulated by the XY cursor located on the throttle stick, or with a voice, thanks to the voice command module DGU-228. A wide-angled HUD with forward-looking infrared is directly connected to the specially designed helmet-mounted display HD-155 Svetovid. It also has HOTAS configuration, which makes it ideal for multipurpose missions which require the pilot to do many operations at once.
The aircraft is also equipped with the latest Advanced Flight Control Manager, which can safely recover the aircraft to the safe flight should it lost control. Together with Advanced Flight Control Manager, the aircraft is also equipped with Automatic Low-Speed Recovery system (ALSR) which prevents it from departing from controlled flight at very low speeds and high angle of attack.

Thanks to its multipurpose role, the aircraft can carry large varieties of weaponry, even for multiple missions at once. That’s about it gentlemen. I hope i made everything clear. Any questions?” Colonel finished, then glanced at the party.

Major Dombrussen nodded.
“Yes, Colonel. I think that is all very clear and most instructive. The Ambassador is a little bit lost on these matters, but I was able to follow along. Also, I will review some of this material as soon as I get a chance. Possibly with some follow up questions. For now though, I have none.”
He was due to eventually return to Glisandia, or in case of things turning for the worse, Nouvel Ecosse, but it didn’t seem as though the Coalition was in any danger of losing the ground taken back from the YSR. The Marxists had a vicious bark, but very few teeth left in that mouth with which to inflict more damage. Dombrussen was one of the few Air Force personnel left from the old RGAF, and so his services would be needed as the Air Force was built back up, utilizing the new Nikolian planes. They still would be sorely lacking in trained pilots to replace those lost during the initial blitz. While the foreign threat was diminishing, it could flare back up, and in the meantime, they had a domestic fanatical threat to the Duchy that was growing larger by the day.

The Glisandian Ambassador cleared his throat and spoke up,
“Yes, what I could gleen, I appreciate. It sounds like you folks have built some very fine flying machines. I would like to perhaps discuss some other business with the Minister...in a little more privacy.” He nodded to Minister Lazic.
“...If we’re wrapped up with the technical briefing, that is?”

Minister Lazic then looked at the Ambassador and replied: “Certainly, your Excellency”. Following this, he then turned towards his assistants and suggested: “Gentlemen, if you please excuse us, we have to discuss the…” he stopped for a moment then continued “...the more...formal part of this deal.” The Minister then looked back at the Ambassador and the Major “Your Excellency, Major, please follow me to the other meeting room where we will have more privacy”.

The trio, followed by the high representative of the Kaminski Design Bureau and the representative of the Nikolian Royal Air Force proceeded to the other, smaller, and by any means, more safer room to discuss the matters of the newly forming Glisandian Royal Air Forces.
The party didn’t walk too long through the modern building of the Kaminski complex to reach the meeting room they would enter. Minister (or General for someone) Lazic was not hiding his curiosity towards what the Glisandians might propose, but he also was not ready to afford a guess just yet. He knew that the Glisandians had no pilots to fly the aircraft Kaminski was about to sell to them, and he also knew that they needed their Air Force back in action as soon as possible. “What will they do?” was the question Minister had been repeating to himself.

Reaching their destination, the Kaminski representative opened the doors of the meeting room in order to let the party to fill the room. Once in, the representative then offered them to take the seat at the oval table in the center of the room.
Once in place, the Minister started: “Your Excellency, Major, here we are…” paused the Minister, then continued “We are ready to negotiate about a discount of some sort on the jets”.

The Ambassador and Major took seats, then the Ambassador spoke,
“Minister Lazic, that would be most gracious if you could cut us, um...a break on the jets. At least let us defer payments a bit until we can get back on our feet. I’m sure that eventually we could recoup the money, but at the moment, we have to rebuild our infrastructure, rebuild a tax base...and so on, you understand? So, it may be a bit of time before we can have that type of funds on hand in order to fully rebuild our military. I will be blunt, but it’s no big secret that the money we have right now in order to start that process is ATO aid money. Also, that before the Yellosians started to get pushed out of our nation, they were literally robbing us. Stripping any asset they could ship back into the Yellow Star Republic that wasn’t nailed down. It has been quite a blow to us, on top of the massive amount of civilian and military casualties and the destruction of a lot of the old Duchy infrastructure. Our goal is to get to a level beyond where we were before. We want to be able to be so much stronger, that this can never happen again. Also, again forgive me for being long winded here...but, also, we are dealing with an internal issue already, even before the the PRA troops are cleared from our territory, we have a fanatical insurgency that has been fighting the royalist resistance fighters as fiercely as they have the YSR invaders…”

“More so I would think, Ambassador. They’re more concerned with destroying us than the Yellosians.” The Major cut in.

“Right, they, being the GGA, have been more active against us than the real invaders. They are a scourge and have committed genocide on our own people. So we desperately need to rebuild our military, and that especially includes our Air Force, both to combat further Yellosian aggression, and any other nation that may threaten us, and also to fight these domestic terrorists that have a stranglehold on the south of our nation. I have another matter to discuss, but if we could conclude the dealings for the fighters, and be able to send this very helpful gentleman from Kaminski on his way to begin work on the details, that would probably be most beneficial.”

The Minister and the Kaminski representative frequently shared looks as the Glisandian Ambassador shared the horrors his nation was going through during the YSR occupation of Glisandia. Although not directly involved, Nikolia, as an ally to the ATO forces, openly supported the liberation of Glisandia. The Minister, as the representative of the King and Nikolia, felt the moral duty to help the Glisandians by any means possible, currently the best thing he and the Kaminski representative can do is to provide the best deal for the aircraft for the currently non-existant Glisandian Air Force.

The Minister then silently exchanged a couple of words with the Kaminski representative, then proceeded to the Glisandian officials: “Gentlemen, we have briefly discussed and we understand your urgent need for our aircraft.” He paused to gather his thoughts, then continued “We, our Royal Air Force is currently replacing its KaF-37 fleet with newer aircraft, which means that we can offer them under the price, they can be sent to Glisandia within weeks time. They have to be repainted with Glisandian decals i suppose…” He glanced at the Kaminski representative, giving him the signal to continue. The Kaminski representative cleared his throat and started: “For the rest of the aircraft, we can also provide discount. A bit lower, as they are to be produced new, but still enough to suit your budget. The Minister and i agreed that it will took around 3 to 6 months for the final delivery, depending on your order. Now, to complete my task here so you three can further discuss, what would be your final order?” he asked the Glisandians, then leaned back on the chair.

The Glisandian Ambassador folded his hands on the table and leaned forward, but he nodded to the RGAF Major to speak.

Dombrussen took the cue and spoke up.
“We are grateful for your generosity. I believe, under those stated conditions, we may be able to expand our order. We were thinking that possibly we would want a super response flight for the new Air Force, of sorts, so we would need to outfit them with the KaF-50s. Possibly 6 to start with?
As to the reconditioned KaF-37s, I think maybe 24 would be a good number. While we do appreciate the lowered cost, as they are already a bit aged, we might need to look at maintenance costs over the next decade. So, yes, 24 of the 37’s and 6 of the 50’s. Would that be possible? The sooner we could get any planes, the better, as we would like to help with the air war against the Yellosians and, as mentioned, we are also dealing with this insurgency simultaneously.”

The Kaminski representative nodded, then commented: “Excellent choice gentlemen, I guarantee they will serve you well. I believe that my job is now done here, Mr. Ambassador, Major, the paperwork pertaining the procurement of the aircraft and the invoice will be sent to the Embassy accordingly.”

Ambassador Reczkowitz responded,
“Thank you for all your help. We look forward to getting the shipment of planes.”

The Kaminski man then stood from his chair, walked towards the doors then finished: “I beg your pardon for i must leave you for now.”

Minister Lazic glanced towards the leaving Kaminski representative, then turned towards the Ambassador and the Major.
He then took a breath and said: “Now, i believe we can discuss about whatever you had to propose, Mr. Ambassador?”

Reczkowitz looked at Major Dombrussen then back at Minister Lazic.
“Er, yes…” He looked to make sure the door was closed, then continued, “As we mentioned before, our Air Force was decimated, not just the fighters , the...F-18s?”

“F-16s, Sir. And some Tornados. All of them gone.”

“Yes, my mistake. Why don’t you pick it up from there?” He said to the Major.

“Yes, sir. So, on top of losing the planes, almost all of them on the ground, we have few trained pilots left. Many were killed in captivity by the YSR. It will be some time to get enough pilots trained up, especially on the new fighters. What we are asking is to be able to have some of your pilots in the Nikolian Air Force...fill in, so to speak. If they could fly the fighters in the meantime, minus the core of pilots we have left. Meanwhile, they would be training our new recruited pilots, and veteran pilots, inbetween missions…”

The Ambassador picked up from there,
“These Nikolians would be ‘volunteers’ in a sense. We would be willing to pay their salaries. They wouldn’t be mercenaries, as they would still be Nikolian Air Force pilots, just off duty. They would nominally still fall under Nikolian command.”

The Major filled in the rest:
“It would be similar to the arrangement the Americans had with the Chinese in the 1930’s, with the establishment of the Flying Tigers. Those Americans however, were considered more mercenary at the time, even though many continued to fly with the American Army Air Corps once the US joined the war; so that may be a bad example. Perhaps more like the Soviet volunteers that flew for North Korea and North Vietnam during those two conflicts. This would give your pilots some valuable combat experience, to boot.”

The Ambassador nodded,
“Do you think we could come to an arrangement on that, Minister? I know it is a big commitment and putting your pilots in harms way, but we sure could use the aid. We would be very willing to keep the arrangement secret and do all in our power to rescue any downed pilots, like they were our own. We would probably need them a bit longer than past the defeat of the YSR, as we will need to do combat against this GGA, who hopefully will not gain any air assets of their own: Fighters or trained pilots. What say you? Could we count on some brave Nikolian pilots in our fight?”

The minister, after listening to what the two had to say, sat silently while in his head a storm of thoughts was raging. He was expecting this, as it did sounded weird that the Glisandians were buying aircraft for literally defunct unit, without any possible crew that could operate them. He thought maybe the Glisandians will only ask for training, which is a common thing nations that buy new aircraft do, but this was out of the clear sky.
He was trying to come up with a way to respond to this, finally, after couple of seconds, he broke the awkward silence:
“I,...uh… i was not expecting this…” He then took a deep breath and continued: “I, personally am willing to help your nation, but i cannot make that kind of decision on my own, i’d have to talk with the King and the Crown Council, it’s a great decision, which can cost the Nikolian international position. I hope you understand” he sighed.

The Glisandian Ambassador nodded.
“Oh, yes, I understand. It’s a big decision and effects a lot of policy. I would not dare tell you all how to run your government, but the less legislation and release of information to the public over this issue, the better it might be for all concerned. Again, after some time spent here, I know the process that must be undertaken to approve such a foreign policy decision, but...there are maybe certain circles in Astyria that would not shed such a noble act in the positive light it deserves. Those that are of opposing political viewpoints to our own...in the Eastern end of the region. Also, some segments of your own public citizenry that would view this as a stepping stone to getting more embroiled unnecessarily in the Lorecian conflict…” The Ambassador took a pause,
“...Honestly, we might be able to hire on some contractor foreign pilots from other sources...Some might even call them ‘mercenaries’...However, we feel that having Nikolian fighter training directly from your pilots would be the best option for several reasons. It would really strengthen the ties between our two nations, it would enable your nation to aid in the security of the region on a lower commital level, and lastly, if anyone would have the most experience flying the Ka-37s and Ka-50s and be able to pass that on, it would be veteran Nikolian Air Force pilots.”

The minister listened carefully, then responded: “Well yeah, you’re right in that. And, about those opposing political viewpoints you think can jeopardise this agreement, you have no reason to worry as they are well aware of our support to ATO alliance. We are supporting them by many means, most of them cannot be talked about…” he stopped for a minute, then continued “So yeah, as i said before, i’d have to talk with the Crown Council about your proposal, the fastest we can answer is tomorrow. You’ll be notified by a letter sent personally to your embassy about our next meeting which will likely happen tomorrow. I think that you two are familiar enough with the importance of keeping this agreement “under the blanket”, so i don’t need to talk about the secrecy issues, right? So gentlemen, i guess we can conclude our meeting for today. We did a lot of work, i hope that we can conclude successfully tomorrow.”

Ambassador Reczkowitz and Major Dombrussen both nodded at the need to be discrete. They were all of the same mind on that issue, if for varying reasons. As one, they both stood up from their places at the boardroom table.
“Minister, it has been a pleasure and I look forward to our meeting tomorrow. This has indeed been a most productive session and I think that our nations are well on the path towards a tight bond. We appreciate your hospitality and we shall await the your next missive at the Embassy.”

[Romberg]

(Holy megapost batman! This was written with Gaul,Glisandia, Neu Engollon, BC and Riysa.)

Unknown Location, South Glisandia

Several days had passed since the Rombergians had crossed the border. All that remained to even show the border existed was an abandoned border post, no doubt due to the rapid Yellosian advance. Papers were still strewn over the floor, and a mug of coffee was present, long frozen over. It was a somewhat post apocalyptic sight.

Since then, they have advanced with little opposition, but now it was time for them to stop and reorganize. Reconnaissance reports said that they were getting close to the retreating Yellosians - around 50km actually. Any nearer and they would have their cover blown wide open. The Yellosians knew the Rombergians were advancing of course, but with the wide open barren landscape of the tundra, it was difficult to search for them in the first place, and with the limited numbers and supplies, the Rombergians could not afford to bear a full Yellosian counterattack.

Now, already, a small forward operating base was in place. Supplies were not too high since they could not afford any more air-drops, but it was enough to sustain them for a few more days. Empty trucks formed walls of the base with a wall of snow, while troops and their vehicles lived within. And anti-aircraft and radar systems were already set up, in case any further Yellosian incursions may occur. Without air protection over the base, it was their safe bet.

Then the meeting was called. It was about time, or the Rombergians would have to risk exposing themselves by calling for air-dropped supplies. Opening a binder of already obsolete data concerning Yellosian orders of battle, as well as current troop movements, Brigadier Ingersson and her adjutant, Tank Commander Gustav Osipov Freiherr von Sturmhåll now opened up a videoconferencing application to coordinate their next movements with the rest of the coalition advancing Southwards. It was supposed to be an encrypted connection, but they could only hope that the Yellosians really could not see any of this.

LJAMDUOR
WESTERN GLISANDIA

They arrived separately by various armored vehicles and aircraft. General von Zeingraf, Commander of all NEDAF forces in northern Lorecia, rode in on board a Ferret MUV. General Benceau, the Gaulic commander, was flown in by UH-24 Fox, accompanied by the Royal Glisandian commander, General Hankonsson. Some of the coalition commanders would join them via video screen.

The Rombergians had originally called for the conference, but the others had agreed that they needed to lock heads together to re-evaluate the liberation campaign so far. The situation had changed, and the enemy seemed to be on the ropes, but catastrophic counterattacks had happened before in history, The Battle of the Bulge being the most famous example. The mass of Yellosian troops that were now pushed between Coalition forces and their own border was staggering and difficult to estimate. Besides whatever other assets might still be sent into the fight that could be brought to bear on the Coalition troops.
It had been agreed, further coordinating and planning was necessary in order to avoid a bloody pushback, and also friendly fire as all the coalition forces closed in and their ‘fields of fire’ started to overlap.

The three commanders were ushered into a tent outside Ljamduor, a town that had had a minimal PRA garrison before quickly falling weeks earlier to a NEDM assault. They took seats up near some tables where a tech was setting up communications gear so that some of the commanders could teleconference in with them.

General Hankonsson was polite to the NEDM Commander, but being cordial did not mean he felt comfortable with the man. He gave him a wide berth in the tent and it was noticed. He had decided for whatever reason that the Neu Engollian General was haughty and conceited. He was grateful that the NEDF were aiding in liberating his nation, and didn’t necessarily consider all Neu Engollians to have such character traits, but they were under the direct command of this man and so their actions would be influenced by his orders. He didn’t feel that attaching too many of the newly reformed Glisandian units to the NEDF was a capital idea, as he was sure they would become instant canon fodder. So they fought alongside the Gauls and Riysians instead, coordinating with them.

General von Zeingraf was in turn weary of the Glisandian commander, giving him his space. He nodded as the NEDM tech finally looked up after setting up the plasma screens.
“We should be ready to go...to receive the signals from the other commanders, Sir.”

“Very good, Sergeant. Perhaps you could stand by in the back in case we have any technical difficulties?” Von Zeingraf waved towards the back wall of the tent.

“Yes, sir. Very good, sir.” The Sergeant headed that way.

Benceau looked to Von Zeingraf. Hankonsson flipped through his notes on a ratty small spiral notepad, ignoring the Neu Engollian General.
“Are we expecting anyone else to arrive in person, General von Zeingraf?”

“General, I am not certain. The Confederate Legate and Ecossian task force commander will be video linking in from Adler, and I believe the Rombergian commander will as well, from his Headquarters. Major General Mansour might be the only one to join us in person and I believe he is inbound.”

“Hmm. I almost wish I’d done the same...video link in, that is. Don’t get me wrong, General. It’s good to see you again, but I am a bit busy.”

“I understand, General, but I do have some paperwork and maps for you to take back with you to make it a worthwhile trip...Hopefully for General Hankonsson, as well.”

Hankonsson looked up from his notes, eyebrows slightly furrowing, only nodding in reply to the NEDF commander.

One of the screens in the conference room flickered to life, showing two officers in standard service uniform. On the left, a lady in her late 30s, with the double cross pattee displayed prominently on her shoulder pads. On the right, a rather tall young man in his mid 20s. It was an urgent meeting, and one which was formal in character after all, so they did not waste time.

The woman spoke. “Brigadier Aleksandra Ingersson, Commander of the 29th (Kaiser’s Own) Division, Imperial and Royal Army of Romberg, and here is my assistant and adjutant, Field and Tank Commander Gustav Osipov Freiherr von Sturmhåll. You may call me Aleks, and him Gustav, or Ms Ingersson and Baron Osipov, or by military rank.”

The Baron nodded, then brought up a live map of the region on another screen of the computer, showing the immediate area and positions of all allied and enemy units. As he did so, Brigadier Ingersson continued, “While you were advancing down Glisandia proper, whittling down Yellosian units, we have made a wide sweep over to the West, so that our move South could be undetected by the Yellosians and they would simply focus on the rest of the Coalition. We’re now about 50 km Southwest of the Yellosian rear guard. According to intelligence, they know we’re here but not where we are, and we’ve got about three days’ worth of supplies left.”

General Benceau replied, interrupting,
“Excusez-moi..Pardon me, Brigadier Ingersson, but do you mind if we wait for all the attendees first? We’re still waiting on the Riysian, Confederate and Ecossian commanders. Otherwise, I’m afraid you’ll have to repeat yourself.”

“General?” Brigadier Ingersson hesitated. “Yes. I guess I’ll repeat myself later then. We’ve cut off our reports to the coalition for a while to prevent the Yellosians from knowing anything, so I thought you may be aching for some news on our situation. Although we’re having significant difficulty in placing all the Yellosian military positions; they do seem to be illogical and in a mess. Are you sure yesterday’s data at 4 am is accurate?”

Benceau glanced at Von Zeingraf then replied,
“We will try to give you a better update. The situation with them is changing from hour to hour. Our RCC birds are up in the air monitoring the situation, as well as some low flying recon planes that can only get so close before coming in range of SAMs and AA.
You are correct that they are a mess, badly disorganized. From the prisoners that we have managed to obtain most recently, it seems that divisions are being slapped together from other unit remnants. I don’t think they expected this much force to push them back so quickly.”

General von Zeingraf added,
“We have them on the ropes, and that is a dangerous animal. We saw the nuclear scare earlier that their now defunct previous leadership threatened us with. They are losing, but they’re not going down without clawing and fighting.”

“Thank you for your update, Generals.” Brigadier Ingersson replied. “Latest updates on enemy compositions will certainly be well appreciated. As we’ve said, we have limited supplies, but are well positioned for a decisive strike that can break the invasion force once and for all, but we only have one shot at this.”

Another screen soon crackled on, displaying an older man in military uniform. The Legate had replaced the Airborne Guard officer who most had met with earlier, and for most it was his first time meeting with them.

“Have we all assembled then?” Greenleaf spoke calmly “Or are others still being waited for? I believe this is, for many of you, the first time we have met, and I look forward to a fruitful discussion here today.”

There was a brief look of relief on Brigadier Ingersson’s face. Having been put down by the Confederates previously, she was glad to deal with another person instead as the Confederate representative - hopefully someone less prejudiced. In any case, she trusted the Baron enough to take over if her views were still taken lightly.

Major-General Talal Mansour walked through the door and into the meeting room. His appearance had changed since the last time the joint commanders had met; in place of the dress uniform he had worn in the first meeting, he had switched out to woodland fatigues and a black beret. While he was still pristine - obviously, being a general, he wasn’t too close to the action - he had taken care to appear combat-ready. He gazed around at his counterparts. “Good afternoon!”

Generals von Zeingraf, Hankonsson and Benceau all stood as the visitor entered the tent. General Benceau had a genuine look of joy on his face:
“General Mansour, it is an honor to see you again. I was hoping you would be able to make it in person!”

The Generals all stood at attention and saluted, then they shook hands with their Riysan counterpart. General von Zeingraf spoke in addition,
“I’m glad that you could make it. We were sort of doubtful that you would be able to take the time away as you have a busy front going on with your drive on Rikijdrottin.”

General Hankonsson nodded, as that involved him as well. The 1st Regiment of the Royal Glisandian Army, led by Colonel Hjarlsson, was aiding the Riysans in taking back the Eastern corridor from the invaders. If he had his choice, it would be him, but both the Duke and the rest of the Coalition commanders had vetoed that decision, due to the severity of the danger of the Eastern sector. Hjarlsson was his most able deputy commander, and a good choice to represent the Glisandians in the retaking of the Keitel River area and the capital.
While the other Generals got to settling back in for the teleconference, Hankonsson took that moment to draw the Riysian Major General’s attention aside.
“General Mansour, I wanted to ask you...How Colonel Hjarlsson is doing, as far as keeping up our part of the front there. I do keep in communication with him, but...Well, I did want to get your opinion.”

Just then, the Baron interrupted. “Excuse me sirs and ladies, the Kaiser has just sent over a new message from the Yellosian leadership - I’m not sure if you know of this. It appears that they’ve asked for a ceasefire.”

He paused and looked to the side, hoping that the Brigadier could give some form of approval. It was duly given. “Freiherr, this is breaking news. Please continue.” she nodded.

“Attached are comments by the Kaiser. Firstly, he believed that it is impossible to concede any enemy victories at this time, and that their request to continue holding any land they are on right now is unacceptable. He also characterized that the current sanctions cannot be lifted unless definitive proof of reform and repudiation of any and all of its expansionist ways are given; proof which unfortunately he fails to observe as of present. Last but not least, and which I personally believe it to be slightly more humorous in character, without offense to the Kaiser, he noted that “invading” forces do not exist, as current military operations are not occurring on Yellosian soil, nor have the various military forces agreed on the name “Western Coalition” as the blanket name for the forces to the best of his understanding; this does not exist. And even if that is true, under official Rombergian policy it is stated that we have not entered the war as a member of the coalition, but rather in defense of Nouvel Ecosse. Technically we have never signed any agreements joining the coalition per se, but merely are participating as collaborative party to the effort. In conclusion, the Kaiser appears to have summarily rejected the ceasefire offer, and urges friendly forces to consider continuing the offensive as planned as well. In addition, noting the strength of the Royal and Imperial forces deployed, it is the Kaiser’s wishes to nonetheless present a joint statement to the Yellosian forces together with sirs and ladies present to present a united front determined to end the campaign of terror once and for all.”

General von Zeingraf chortled at the bit that the Kaiser objected to most, mainly lumping the Rombergians in with the rest of the powers aligned against the Yellow Star Republic.

“Sorry, we’ve been weaselling out of our Constitution to into this war.”

A NEDM aide walked over at the moment to urgently interrupt and show him an electronic tablet that displayed the same missive from the YSR that the Rombergian Baron had just mentioned. Von Zeingraf grabbed the tablet and put it in his lap.
“Baron, I don’t want to get into the semantics of how you find yourselves on our side against the Yellosian aggressors, you may all deal with that and label yourselves how you like. I think that Arkjelstad will continue to lump you in with us, regardless. The important point is, I think we can agree that this attempt at an armistice is both unacceptable and intriguing…”

General Benceau interrupted,
“Oui, I think this is a huge sign. They are acknowledging their weakness and eventual inability to continue holding on or being able to prolong us from achieving victory. We must press on and not let them secure territory. That is most unacceptable to the Gaul command, and I think I speak for my fellow ATO commanders, as well.”

General von Zeingraf nodded,
“Definitely, there’s no way that we would give them time to breathe from our offensive, or consolidate what ground they had left, both in Glisandia and Adler. Also, I have to imagine that Director General Hildgurssen is aware of that. This can only be a half hearted attempt to start the negotiation process.”

The Confederate Legate finally spoke up, after silently observing the situation for some time. “While your forces have taken the easy way in, my own and those of Nouvel Ecosse have been struggling through the most difficult sector of the campaign. I for one would welcome a pause in the combat, if for nothing else than to allow us time to bury our dead. Is there any real risk of them launching some kind of devastating counter-attack should we allow them some time? The combined might of our forces can crush them whenever, wherever, and however we want.”

“Legate Greenleaf”, General von Zeingraf replied, “I understand your position, but yes, I believe that there could be a chance of a major counter attack. We are driving back their forces to the point that they have a massive bulge, with little supply lines to worry about. They might decide that this is the time to act. They are already starting to use air assets again, when they hadn’t been supporting their ground forces for the last few weeks previous to that. They are getting bolder with using their counter battery artillery too, knowing that we can strike deep at them and silence that artillery decisively. They still risk it. I don’t take that as a good portend.”

“General von Zeingraf,” Benceau spoke up, “Couldn’t these also be signs of desperation? Backs against the wall, so to speak…”

“Let them mass their aircraft and their artillery during the ceasefire then. Their numbers are few, and should they send them against us after the break, then we will wipe them out. I trust in the abilities of the Confederate Air Force to handle the task, as I trust in the abilities of all of your air forces to do the same. The Yellosian Air Force is a fraction of what it was, it is nothing to be afraid of, General.”

Thinking for a while, the Brigadier responded. “Sirs, I am not too sure that giving the enemy a period of time to rest may be the best tactical decision. They are not completely surrounded; there is always one way they could take- back home with tails between legs. We ask for just one final offensive. In one week, the war should be over. Yes we took the less fought over path, but right now my soldiers are at the peak of their morale, and well rested. Our location has just been sent to your headquarters. As you can see, we are in perfect position for a flanking attack on the already mauled Yellosian forces right now. If the Coalition can launch a massive strike down, we will wait before opening up a second front right there. They’ll be beaten back to their homeland in no time. We must remember that although the situation in their country is not clear - apparently the signee of the request seems to not have been the leader, they can very well conscript enough of a home guard and fresh troops to be a headache for us. And right now the only thing the Imperial and Royal Army has on our side is time. We are outgunned, and in a matter of days our current forward operating base position may be exposed. We desperately need a joint strike to maximise our effectiveness.

And on that regard, another set of correspondence with the Kaiser has been concluded, formally granting us the power to re-deploy aircraft into the war zone. We have - as may be mistaken for - Su-34 and -35 jets on standby at Eisengård Military Base, and with a refuelling stop at an ally-held airbase, we are able to head back into the fray against further targets both on the ground and in the air.”

General Benceau tilted his head to the side.
“I think that the intel is good that Director General Hildgurssen is in charge there now. I mean...We can’t be 100% certain, but there has been footage of most of the Politburo in chains in a public show trial. That’s either an odd elaborate plot or they really are on the outs and about to be strung up. I tend to believe the latter.”

Von Zeingraf agreed,
“Yes, I do believe that much. This Hildgurssen is no joke. She is one tough bitch, and may actually be a tougher leader to negotiate with than the former Politburo. We have gotten solid intel from NESA that she has complete control. Anyway, I think that I would tend to agree with the Brigadier. We need to keep pressing the attack and not let up. I think that with the light resistance we have hit so far, and with aerial recon confirming, we should be able to help the Rombergian drive to the group south of us, and to the East of them…”

Benceau joined back in,
“Meanwhile, I think that we are in the same situation. I believe that we should be able to wheel East and attack the capital in support of the Riysian attack from the north. I can’t speak for the Glisandian Regiment attached to us, but I would hope that we could count on them, as well.”

General Hankonssen responded to the Gaulic General.
“I think that you can count on us. The 2nd Regiment will be there right alongside you, as will the 1st that are fighting with our Riysian comrades. Also, I will let you know that we will have two squadrons of fighters operational for this final fight.”

The NEDM General commented,
“I was aware that there were some pilots in training on the forward air bases of the GAF, but not that they were enough ready to fly in combat. This is news. Two full squadrons?”

Benceau looked uncomfortable, but didn’t say anything. He was quite a bit more aware of the situation with the resurgent Glisandian Air Force, as his forces hosted the new Kaminsky aircraft on their forward bases.

Hankonssen paused, then continued.
“Yes, we lost most of our pilots during the initial invasion and captivity to the Yellosians, but...We have some new recruit pilots. Some that are born in this country, some from other parts of the region.”

“The Nikolians? This isn’t a huge secret you know. They are part of the ATO after all.”

Hankonssen nodded,
“Yes, Nikolian Air Force pilots that have signed up for service with us. That is how we can field two squadrons. So, we hope to contribute to the air war, as well as the ground war.”

Relaying the messages back home, the screen had been now focused on the Baron for the last few minutes as he monitored the signal. Just off-screen though, the brigadier rolled her eyes. “Not doing much until now then, always late to the party…” she thought. The Nikolians were strong allies and friends of the Rombergians of course, but that didn’t stop a bit of rivalry going on.

As the messages passed through, the camera now switched back to the Brigadier, who then asked “In that case, when can allied forces be ready for the final big assault? Right now the Royal and Imperial forces are just a few hours away from their last known location, and we are ready to spring the ambush at any time.”

The Legate cleared his throat loudly and continued his argument for a halt in the fighting. “What will you gain from breaking their army? All you will do is shatter their pride and make them hungry for revenge. It is already clear that the people responsible for this war are out of power. The Yellosians are beaten and they know it. I am urging you to listen to this call for a ceasefire, let them withdraw in good order, and hold on to whatever shreds of dignity they have left. We should be using this as an opportunity to finally welcome them into the Astyrian community, not kick them while they are already down. A final blow will do nothing but waste more lives. The war is over. I know it. You know it. They know it.”

“Nein.” the Brigadier retorted. “Have you read their ceasefire request? They want to keep all their lands. Do you want that to happen? Because this is how you subjugate innocent Platt and Glisandian citizens under Yellosian control and legitimise their invasion. And precisely we need to shatter their pride. If we do not and just stop right now, they can argue that they have not conclusively been defeated. Backstabbing, scapegoating and the like. It’d cause much more harm in the long run.”

“We can use the ceasefire as an opportunity to negotiate. Let them have their argument of victory. It doesnt matter what they say, as long as Glisandia and Adler are free. We need to demonstrate that they need to vacate their lands and withdraw back to their borders. If they decline, then by all means, we will let loose on them. But are you willing to look the mothers and fathers if all of those lost in the eye and tell them that you didn’t even try to avoid their deaths? That there was an opportunity to halt the bloodshed, and you decided against it because you were afraid of something some Yellosians might say in a pub somewhere? I know I am not” the Legate responded. “If we don’t make any headway with negotiations, I will be the first one to order up the bombers. But I don’t want to go home and say we didn’t even try”

“An are you willing to look into the eyes of all my soldiers, ten thousand strong, to say that they’re going to be stranded here without a supply chain with only a few days’ of food? My soldiers know they were putting their life on the line for this. For freedom and self-determination of the peoples. They understand the risks. Dying in battle is a much greater honour than dying of exposure because of inaction.”

“If food is your primary concern, I will give you my word that I will personally lead the first helicopter full of it to your forces. We have plenty here, and we would be more than willing to share it. Dying for nothing is a lot worse than not dying at all.”

“And can you guarantee safe passage? We would have kept our supply lines if we had not decided to go stealthy. This is one chance we can take, possibly our only. To end this war on our terms. Not theirs. We have the upper hand and the initiative. Once your helicopters come, our cover would be blown and there goes all our efforts to open up a second frontline.”

“Everyone knows where you are. You have 500 plus tanks, and a video of them getting blown up all over YouTube. And this is a ceasefire, so yes, I can guarantee my safe passage”

“Not the exact location, and that video was quite far away from where we are now. They know we are in the area, but not where this place is or when we will strike.”

“You are greatly underestimating the YSR, and their ability to gather intelligence, General.”

“A risk that we must take then. the longer we wait, the better organised they will get, and conversely we’d be in an even worse position. Even if we did dig in to resume being supplied, we would no longer have any element of surprise, or whatever is left of it. And with our numbers compared to theirs, we’d be sitting ducks. Once we’re down, your flank would be open. One well timed push and all our efforts could go to nought. Only a speedy attack can truly bring us to victory or any form of lasting peace.”

“The Confederacy is accepting their ceasefire in Adler. If they divert the forces there against your own, then there is nothing more I can do. It seems you are hell bent on death and destruction but do not look to the Confederacy for aid if the Yellosian Sukhois find your column before your grand scheme works out, and do not look to us to mourn with you when your dead begin to pile up needlessly. What you are doing is nothing short of barbaric.”

The Brigadier looked to the Neu Engollians and the Gauls. If they did not offer support, the campaign would be over. She’d be calling a withdrawal. Already they could only barely have an advantage over the Yellosians with what they have now. If a joint attack could not happen, then all of their efforts would have been wasted and they might as well go home. Some with their heads intact, others like the brigadier, with a high risk of not even that.

With that, the Coalition was neatly shredded into two, as if there was an audible noise to its dissolution. Gerhard von Zeingraf stroked at his whiskers as he contemplated the shrewd political maneuver. There were certainly underlying causes, and he could guess at them, but the ultimate motivator in this instance was hard to fathom.

General Beanceau stood blinking rapidly without saying anything. His lips trembled, and a deeper color crept into his face. It was as if he felt all the tension and hostility of the East-West divide, the ATO vs EATA cold war clash over all these decades, suddenly boil up within him.

General Hankonnson just let out a short barking laugh, smirked and shook his head sadly.
“Typical. Ah, Odin. It’s just...so typical.”

[Serretes]

Holdings of the King
Outside Saartholm, Serretes
August 20th, 2015
“My son will return shortly. As you know, I sent him to meet with Confederate representative.” The old man spoke slowly, deliberately, as if not to give too much away. The low ceilinged meeting room housed a long, simple, wooden table and a collection of chairs. The king, Uhtred the Elder, sat at one end of the large table, the fire to his back; his old frame, once proud with youth, now sat stooped and wrapped in multiple wool blankets. The blankets obstructed his movement, but he had no reason to move, everything he needed was within easy reach. Even as he finished speaking, there was a commotion heard through the tall double-doors. One of the doors opened and his son followed by the Bishop of Saartholm burst through. Behind them, the rest of the delegation to the Confederacy followed with the exception of the security detail.

“Here he is.” The king mumbled into his beard before taking another gulp of tea. He was always cold, he was scarcely able to remember the last time he wasn’t cold. He was too old for this. Once Uhtred stops being such a belligerent and impetuous bastard, then I can pass along his inheritance early. Until such a time, I must remain king or Uhtred will provoke war with every nation in the region. Even the Confederacy. A few of the men seated around the table called a greeting to Uhtred and the others; the Bishop promptly took a seat at the left hand of the king with a grunt as he lowered his bulk into the chair.

“Uhtred….how did your meeting at the Confederate Consulate go?” The king called down to the end of the table where Uhtred the Younger stood, alone. The rest of the delegation had taken their seats around the table.

Uhtred the Younger said nothing, shifting his weight to his right leg, and drawing himself up to his full height, and yanked at his beard. No one spoke. “It went well. For the most part. Certain parties made negotiation difficult.” He stared down the table at the corpulent bishop and frowned. His grey eyes burned with hatred for the old man before he turned away again. “They are willing to subsidize our cattle and wheat industries in exchange for exclusive importation of our products. SEREA is in desperate need of new weapons. They have offered to send us weapons.” Uhtred the Younger looked over the expectant faces of the assembled Council before continuing. “They have offered their assurance that we will not be invaded by GHawkins.” He pushed up the sleeves of the grey BDU he had switched into after the meeting with the consul.

“And what do they ask in return for such generosity? If you tell me they are offering all these things in charity, I will know that you are lying.” A few of the men around the table laughed at the words of the king.

“They ask for a listening post on one of our western islands. The good bishop offered them our lands. Church lands, I mean. They wish to keep track of GHawkian activity in the area.” Uhtred the Younger again fixed his eyes on the Bishop, hatred dripped from every word.

“And will this not provoke an attack from GHawkins?” The king asked.

“I am guaranteed that there will be no invasion. I am wary of this certainty.” His speech became mangled with his accent.

“Well, I am not!” Bishop Æthelred interrupted. “The men of the Confederacy are true men.”

“Hold your tongue.” Uhtred the Younger snapped. “You want only for their gold.”

“What is this mention of gold? You said nothing of it before.” Uhtred the Elder looked ever so slightly more engaged than he did before.

His son answered before the Bishop had a chance. “Bishop Æthelred poured out his sorrowful tale to the consul. How his poor church lacked for riches and reliquaries. And the consul offered him gold, in exchange for an island.”

“You filthy bastard, the son of a whore!” The Bishop screamed, forgetting that neither of these were true and that Uhtred the Elder sat not five feet from him. “You brought up the want for gold, not me.”

“I’ll cut your tongue from your throat and have you flayed. My mother is a highborn noble woman. Your mother is nothing more than a Hythe whore that couldn’t keep her legs shut to some fumbling foreign sailor.” He had drawn his knife, and his accent made him nearly possible to understand.

“Uhtred. Uhtred! You will do no such things.” His father shouted across the table, seeming to gain some of his youthful composure once again. “Do you lie?” The security captain had moved to restrain Uhtred the Younger but did nothing in the end.
“It matters not. Bishop Æthelred would sell our lands for a fucking reliquary.”

“What of the recording I told you to make?”

“You trust the son of prostitute over the words of your own son?”

“What of the recording? I want to see the recording.”

Uhtred the Younger smiled. “I don’t seem to have it with me. It must have fallen into the harbor.” He sheathed his long bladed knife, slowly regaining his composure.

“You are lying, but I have not the energy to settle this right now. I am too old for your shit. I envy your dead mother. Now to settle the matter of the listening post. I am in favor. We will have to hold another meeting with the consul, this time I will be present so we will have no need for your recording skill.” He grinned, and a few of his advisors chuckled. “All of those in favor of a listening post?” Of the thirteen men assembled, excluding Uhtred the Younger, eight voted in favor.

“I will allow you to return to your work. Uhtred, stay here.” The men filed out of the low ceilinged room. Uhtred the Younger walked around of the table to the right side of the old man.

“Yes?” He smiled at the old man.

“If you or any of your men so much as touch the Bishop, I’ll have you and all of your men beaten. Am I clear? I hate that bastard as much as you do, but he is still valuable to both myself and the Pope. There is nothing further.” The king shouted to one of the serving girls to bring him more tea.
Uhtred the Younger turned and walked away, his hand resting on the hilt of his knife.
He walked across the massive house, noting the quietness of it all. No one besides his immediate family, the staff, and security lived here. A handful of his men lived with their families on the far side of the building, most of the staff and security lived over there. Normally he would call some of his men and go drinking with them, but tonight he more pressing things to concern himself with than prostitutes and alcohol. He checked to ensure all three of his knives were in their proper place before passing out through a tiny gate in the perimeter wall. No cameras or men were ever left to watch this gate, and so Uhtred used it for all of his own purposes. He walked down the long, lonely hill towards the town of Saartholm. His gait was quick, if he was fast enough, he could find the bishop as he emerged from the Cathedral at the conclusion of evening mass. As usual, he longed to lie with his wife or at the very least a prostitute but that was not meant to be tonight.

The massive bells atop of the Cathedral tolled nine times, and people slowly proceeded through the massive doors of the Cathedral. Uhtred passed through the throng of people to the western side of the church where a small priests’ entrance sat abandoned. Uhtred walked across the square so that he could watch the door out of sight of anyone using the door. He waited until he saw a corpulent figure emerge from the building, briefly framed in the pale light before the door shut behind him. Uhtred stood and began moving towards the man. Bishop Æthelred walked hurriedly, likely heading towards one of the expensive restaurants to eat at the expense of his parishioners. Uhtred tailed his movements through the mostly empty streets. He loosened the longest of his knives, a wicked scramasax, in its sheath before rolling the sleeves back up on his BDUs and accelerating his pace. The bishop was oblivious to him, until Uhtred grabbed him by the arm and slammed his old body into the wall of one of the nearby low buildings. Uhtred dragged the old man towards an alleyway between two buildings. He pressed the knife into the throat of the Bishop and grinned at him.

“I could open you up here. Nothing would happen to me. You would be dead, and my father would thank me. Keep your mouth shut. If you say anything of this, I’ll flay you alive and feed your still living flesh to your favorite whore. You are the least celibate and least poor priest that has ever stained this earth. If you challenge me again during a Council meeting, I’ll do the same. This is what you will do. You will tell my father that upon deeper prayer on the manner, you have decided that it would be more prudent for us to open a single island to the Confederacy for their listening post. They will pay that rent in weapons for SEREA. Not gold for your church. If this doesn’t happen by tomorrow night, I will ensure that you never enjoy life again.” Uhtred chuckled. The knife had pushed farther into the neck of the old man than he had intended and blood dribbled down his neck and onto his dark vestments. “I will see you tomorrow.” Uhtred rose, wiped his knife on the cloak of the old man, and stalked back into the dark.

[Kamalbia]

Ruined Mansion,
Coastal Kamalbia

Asrami reached down, picking up one of the scorched pieces of brick and examined it briefly, before tossing it over the edge of the cliff.

Behind him, men with balaclavas over their faces and AKs slung over their backs were going about, picking through the rubble. The mansion that had been built near the end of the 19th century had been reduced to nothing but a loose pile of bricks. The HE rockets had blown major holes in the structure while the White Phosphorous tipped ones had started fires. Those had subsequently scorched and weakened the structure, causing it to collapse under its own weight.

The tally so far was thirty-one dead. Most of them local guns-for-hire, hired by Frankhauser to secure his mansion. Useless, Asrami thought, since there was no evidence any of the assailants had even gotten injured.

Asrami shook his head as he made his way over the pile, past a pair of his men dragging away a charred body.

"What a mess" he said to himself once he reached his car, parked outside the perimeter walls. He turned around to look once more, before pulling open the door and getting in.

A few minutes later, while the mansion was still being scavenged for anything useful and bodies being recovered, Asrami was back in one of the tunnels the ALA used for their military infrastructure. There, he established a connection with the man known simply as "The Benefactor".

"Anything in that building at the time of the strike is dead. We haven't yet recovered Frankhauser's body, but if he was inside at the time, there's no way he could have survived."

It took a minute before the scrambled voice of "The Benefactor" replied.
"He is not dead."
"How do you know?" Asrami replied, taken aback by the resolve in the Benefactor's voice, but not surprised by it. The man had the habit of knowing stuff he should not know.
"The GSA has him" the Benefactor said, not really answering the question.

"How do you know it wasn't Gaul? Or Neu Engollon? Or even-..."
Asrami was interrupted before he could finish.
"I know."

Silence reigned after that for a moment, only the occasional crack of a hiccup in the connection breaking it.

"I have decided to accelerate the time schedule for our operation. We're starting tomorrow?" the scrambled voice said.
"Tomorrow? That leaves very little time to prepare"
"Not my problem. The device is being transferred as we speak. You will have it when you need it."
"Is it not compromised?"
"No."

Even a man like Asrami was from time to time unnerved by the responses the "Benefactor" gave. He knew next to nothing about the man on the other side, not even his real name. Who he worked for, was unknown. He had an agenda but rarely revealed anything other than objectives he needed accomplished.

But he royally paid the ALA. Even the payment received by the RLO for their agreement didn't come close. Because of that, they had simply taken the RLO money and then focussed on the objectives the Benefactor said. The RLO was too busy trying not to get bombed, so they could get away with it without having to blow up even more RLO stuff.

The ALA might fight capitalism, but utilised it effectively to pursue that goal.

"You will proceed as planned."

Asrami hadn't noticed he had been silent for some time, but he had no chance to reply as the connection was broken.

Asrami tossed the phone on the seat next to him, sighing deeply.

Eastern Andamonia

Even when a war is going on, there are things that drive people to keep going. One of those things, unsurprisingly, is money. Andamonia wasn't in any good fighting position, yet a bunch of money to the right people kept the trains going.

Money paid under the table to dock workers, customs officials and railroad officials had made it possible for the old diesel train to run through the country side, on the single track heading through the vast wasteland towards Kamalbia.

The boxcars the diesel was pulling along were all fading in colour, the paint almost falling off when you looked at it. In fact, the boxcars did leave a trail of paint chips as they were peeled off by the wind, landing around the area like leaves from autumn trees. The brownish-red colour of the paint only added to the image of autumn leaves.

To the simple spectator this old diesel train, which should have been retired a long time ago, was on a simple freight run. Nothing suggested that this train was carrying what the Benefactor had referred to as "The Device". Inside the third boxcar from the engine, "The Device" was stored, under armed guard by several men and women that looked very out of place in the environment they were going.

A well cared for appearance, well fed and above all, professional looking, were easy indications that the four men and one woman inside the boxcar weren't your local-guns-for-hire. Their black tactical vests, the velcro showing that they used to have a patch on their shoulder which had been removed prior to leaving wherever they came from and the heavy armament brought along meant no chances were taken with "The Device".

Throughout the night, the train continued its trek throughout the country side, eventually reaching the border of what used to be the now failed-state Kamalbia. The train had already started its journey before the events of at the mansion and it therefore took a full day for it to reach its destination; The harbour of Ceel Hafun, on the eastern coast of Kamalbia.

During the time where Gaul ruled Kamalbia, Ceel Hafun had been one of the most prosperous of harbours, a real trade hub. During the collapse of the central government, Ceel Hafun had suffered greatly. The trade had dried up, ships stopped coming and welfare in the town was on the decline. It was now home to large slums, even though the population did not exceed twenty thousand.

As the train made its way through the slums that had been build around the tracks, kids ran along with it. It had been ages since a train had come through. At least, a train that wasn't an improvised battleship on rails, a product of ALA ingenuity.

For the first time in years, the docks were bustling with activity as two Liberty class freighters had docked early yesterday evening.

The Liberty class freighters were a relic of the second Astyrian War, when the shipyards of Scorpia in GHawkins built more than 2,000 of them. After the war, they were sold to many nations who required a merchant navy. Gaul was amongst them, who had used several of them for some time in Kamalbia. Following the Gaul withdrawal, the merchant ships came in the hands of the Kamalbian government and, after its collapse, in the hands of the captains of those ships.

Both freighters weren't a lot to look at. How these two ships still floated was beyond anyone in the docks and would require more than a casual explanation to fully understand. Rust prevailed over paint. Yet its cargo decks were in good order, because that's what made money, not the appearance of the ship.

As the train rolled into the docks, having stared breaking a long way back, containers were being loaded into the holds by the equally rusty cranes. Of the eight cranes that had once stood proudly in the harbour, only three were still somewhat in working order. A fourth lay in the water, having collapsed several years prior with nobody caring enough to remove it. Everything of value had been stripped from it and now it was just a metal hulk, an obstacle to the very few ships that made port here.

"The Device" was transferred from the train to one of the freighters, still under armed guard. Any locals that got in the way of the large, somewhat cylindrical shaped backpack were pushed harshly aside or made to move under the threat of a barrel.

Soon after, the formalities of the loading of "The Device" were completed. It would take several hours to finish the loading of the remainder of the containers and the human cargo.

The captain of the ship grinned as he stood on the bridge, looking at the loading process as another container was lowered into the hold and secured.

Yes, he thought, I have been waiting too long for this.

He gave the container, now unhooked as the crane went on to move another container, one last look, before turning around and placing the clipboard he had been holding onto the desk beside the steering wheel and moving down below to get some tea.

Pinned on that clipboard was a paper showing the route this freighter would have to sail and the waypoints it would have to pass. Though the entire paper was in Kamalbian, the destination in the freighter had been translated into English: GHawkins.

[Andamonia]

[OOC: Loose ends are already tied up, I know, but I need to get the official surrender out for myself. So much retroactive stuff.]

Zadé Axochizin, central Andamonia
5 PM, 17 November 2014

Amahuiz Tlacapilzi, fourth sovereign of the Andamonian Empire since the Tlacapila Restoration of 1913, was not calm. On the front the worst of the fighting was over, but here in the capital the situation was only deteriorating further and further. The media had gotten hold of, and leaked, statistics and casualty counts - over 30,000 dead and wounded, wildly disproportionate to Trellin's casualties - and an already malcontent, simmering populace had quickly boiled over. Day and night now, angry crowds took to the streets, defying police and the soldiers who remained loyal to the government. Why were they still at war? they demanded to know. The war was over. Andamonia had lost.

The masses had come to recognise this obvious truth within the first fortnight of the war, but a heightened sense of national pride, subtly stoked whenever it burned low, had kept all but the most vocal at home while the military was vainly struggling over Zitiar and the Txekri frontier. By the second week of October, there were demonstrations in the larger squares, outside the Grand Assembly, and even around the palace. That had only increased since then. At least the government had been more or less on side, powerless though it was, but it wasn't until Mocat disappeared that the emperor realised how much he'd relied on his First Speaker to placate them.

Where was Mocat, anyway? He hadn't been seen in days, at a time when his emperor needed him most. Amahuiz Tlacapilzi was not an unintelligent man, but he was far from qualified to lead a country. Mocat Xekomo, though - he was a man who knew how to cajole the ministers, please the people, direct his emperor. Andamonia needed him, and he was nowhere to be found anywhere in the city (in fact, unbeknownst to Amahuiz, he had fled through Sarmize into Cathanas, and thence moved north to Sycoon, where he was living under an assumed identity).

Yes, Amahuiz needed his First Speaker. He needed someone to tell him what to do, because he was lost. Lost in an empire that had lost itself. He paced wearily to the window and gazed out to see pillars of black smoke rising from the choking urban sprawl that blanketed Zadé Axochizin's rolling hills. Did anyone remember a time when Andamonia was still a great nation? If only he could turn things around and revive the country, but without succumbing to the temptation for military glory. If only he knew what to do to save his country. If only-

"He told me what to do," Amahuiz remembered all of a sudden, speaking aloud to the silent and empty chamber. Hadn't Mocat, a full month before, exhorted him to surrender? Imagine how many lives he could have saved, had he only listened to his closest adviser. He stared out the window at the ruin his own country was inflicting on itself. It wasn't too late to save it.

With new-found purpose and a determined stride, Amahuiz burst through the door, looking for the nearest phone. He moved quickly down a corridor, his mind working quickly, and found one sitting on a corner table. He picked it up and dialled for Reception.

"Front desk," answered the receptionist after a moment, sounding exasperated to be called so close to the end of her day.

Amahuiz ignored her tone. "Get me every news team in the city outside the palace for eleven tomorrow," he decreed, his voice suddenly overflowing with an authority it had always lacked. "I have changes to make."

---

Nearly eighteen hours later, the Andamonian emperor had lost none of the determination or momentum he had had the evening before. He came down the long hallway to the imperial balcony, smiling at one official, nodding at another, pausing briefly to speak with staff, outwardly serene and with a refined regality that betrayed none of his internal turmoil, his racing heart or his uneasy stomach. He felt no control over his actions or his words, his mind floating turbulently alongside his body as it made its way down that corridor, towards that many-paned glass door through which white sunlight was streaming.

A moment to steel himself. His body paused behind the door, no longer inexorably drawn towards it and the balcony beyond. This was his moment of decision. Was it really the right one to make? Through his mind drifted images of the Grand Assembly, standing proud before their emperor only a few weeks earlier, of the Andamonian flag flying full in the wind of Zitiar, defying Trellinese tanks and troops; how glorious it was to see Andamonia triumphant! But now came other visions, men lying in pools of blood on a dusty grey road, plumes of smoke rising from the streets of Reu far away on the border, a military parade through Zadé Axochizin under a navy, white and crimson-crossed banner - no. He knew what he must do.

"People of Zadé Axochizin, of Andamonia - my people - people of Trellin, people of Astyria. I stand before you a man repentant. I stand before you prepared to atone for my sins, for the sins of my father and the sins of all our ancestors. I am ready to admit my fault and my inheritance of that guilt.

"What is it they say? 'War changes a man'?" He seemed to laugh quietly to himself for a moment before continuing. "It's true. War changes many things, but above all else it destroys. How can I look at these past months and tell myself I have done right by my country? Thousands of Andamonian people lie dead, countless more are injured and swathes of land in the west are laid waste by our own retreat as much as by any actual conflict. Zitiar, Rehahu and Oalde lie in ruins. Getús, Uushen, Pathatl and Teraxi Yú all bear the scars of war. Who am I to stand at my window and call myself fit to rule when all I have wrought is woe and folly?

"For far too long I hid in this palace, too stubborn to yield and too proud to admit defeat. It is now with the deepest regret for my own mistakes that I wish to put an end to my insanity. If, somehow, it were possible to undo all that I have done I would do so without hesitation. I would give anything to be able to redeem my countless errors, but I cannot change the past. All that is left for me to do is to repent and rebuild as best I can.

"People of Andamonia, my people. I have been a fool. For years you have sat by and known this to be true, murmured it behind your back, mentally hurled abuse at my figure. I realise now that I deserved it, and I must firstly apologise to you all. You have a right to expect more from your emperor, even if his power is absolute - indeed, all the more so, since who else is there to protect you if not me? No, I failed in my responsibility, but I hope and pray for the opportunity to make that right once more.

"People of Txekrikar. Our neighbours. You should have been our friends but for our own pride. I ask your forgiveness. What we took from you, all those years ago, years without count, was never ours to hold. The Usmalím is yours, and I hope that soon it can be, in its entirety, once more under legitimate Txekri governance. On my honour, it is my conviction that this is how things should be, and I will see it out.

"People of Trellin, to you we extend a hand in contrition and, I hope, reconciliation. Our - indeed, my - stubborn arrogance has cost so many lives, all so needlessly. Let this moment be the end of this war and the end of all hostility between our peoples. From this point forward I order our soldiers, all our soldiers, wherever they may be, to stand down, and I humbly request that you, the Trellinese, join us in ushering in a lasting ceasefire and peace. I come before you as just some errant fool to a great and proud nation whom I have wronged. I will not have it said that I am too proud to yield. I yield now.

"We made mistakes. We made bold claims. We made enemies, threats, war. We made fools of ourselves. Now... now we do all that is left to do. Now we make peace."

There was total silence on the balcony for some seconds after he finished speaking, and then Amahuiz took a deep breath of the warm morning air before bowing low to the assembled press. Then he turned about and serenely disappeared into the building.

[Serretes]

Confederate Consulate
Saartholm, Serretes

Consul Gildedhorn was eagerly awaiting a response from the Serreten royal family, and had been pacing his office for some time, trying to ensure all his requests and promises were able to come to fruition when his secretary buzzed in through the intercom system on his desk.

“Consul” the woman’s voice crackled in over the speaker “You have an invitation from the King. He would like to meet you at his home.”

Gildedhorn nearly leapt for joy at the news. He had spent years here, and had never really done much of anything, and now, all of a sudden, in a matter of days, there was some real action to be had. After confirming the time and date of the meeting, he ran a hand through his hair, straightened his tie, and sat down to pour himself a nice glass of Paradisian red wine.

Holdings of the King
Saartholm, Serretes

Uhtred the Elder sat in the same chair, wrapped in the same blankets, and drank from the same cup as before; age brought routines and certainty, something he rarely longed for in his younger days. His invitation to the Confederate consul had been sent and there was nothing to do but wait for a reply and the inevitable meeting. The confirmation of the consul served only as a formality. The Consul waited as eagerly for the invitation as Uhtred the Elder waited for his presence. Everything and most everyone was ready for the meeting, they waited only for the delegation of the Confederacy.

Bishop Æthelred slipped through one of the open side doors and sat in his usual spot to the left of the king. “I have had a change of mind, in this issue concerning the Confederacy.”

“You of all people surprise me, Æthelred. What has led to this sudden change in opinion?” Uhtred noted the small cut on the neck of the Bishop. He knew immediately that his son had some role in the injury. “You are injured?” He asked as he pointed to the wound.

“Nothing but a scrape. I have become more clumsy with age.” He tried to laugh contemptuously at himself, but he broke into a bout of coughing. “After careful examination of my heart on this matter and much diligent prayer, I have realized that maybe opening an island to the Confederacy may not be the best move at the moment…”

Before he could finish his sentence the interjected. “My son put you up to this! I know you too well, and the promise of gold for your church holds great bearing on you. Tell my son that I heard your plea and decided to ignore you. If he offers any more trouble, then I will deal with him accordingly. I am clear?” As he spoke in a dull, low voice, the members of the Council arrived and took seats about the table.


The Confederate consul entered into the main hall of the Serreten ruler’s home and quickly pressed his tie down, a last second attempt to improve his appearance, before walking to a nearby guard. “Consul Gaius Gildedhorn, of the Blackhelm Confederacy. I have a meeting with King Uhtred” he spoke confidently. “Can you point me in the right direction?”

In all of his many years in the country, Gaius had never once been invited to the home of its king. Come to think of it, he had not really been invited much of anywhere by the Serreten government. He briefly looked up, admiring the ceiling for a second before he followed the guard to his final destination.

“Aye, sir. The King is expecting you, as his Council. If you will follow me?” The guard turned and moved down one of the three hallways exiting the main hall of the home. He walked reasonably quickly, not speaking. Finally, he stopped before a two large wooden doors with two more guards posted nearby. “Announce the presence of the Consul.” One of the guards nodded, and slipped into the room. He emerged seconds later, and held open the door for the Consul. The first guard stood still, allowing the Consul to enter the room before retracing his steps to the atrium. As the Consul entered, King Uhtred stood. He had removed his blankets, they were now hidden in one of the adjoining rooms. Instead he wore a very simple suit. “Consul Gildedhorn, thank you for meeting on such short notice.”

Gildedhorn briefly cleared his throat before speaking. “It is my pleasure to be of service, your highness. The previous meeting with your representatives seemed to have been most fruitful. I only hope we can continue on such a pace today. Are there any questions you may have for me before we begin?”

“None, that come to mind as of now.” The king glanced at the men of the Council, quizzically. None of them spoke. “You do not mind that we record what is said here today? Let me just say that I am very content with the fact that we are talking, finally. The news my son brought back to me was all very pleasing.”

“Not at all, you may record as you wish, this is your house after all sir” the Consul answered.

“Our wheat and cattle industries are at your disposal provided you ship the goods back to Blackhelm. Our barley can also be diverted fully to you, if that is what you desire. No one here had any issue with this proposition so there is no need to waste time on it, I don’t think. Unless there is anything that your government may desire additionally? How rude of me, would you like anything to drink?”

“These things all seem to be on track with what my government would like. And I will have a cup of tea, if that is ok?” the Consul replied before continuing. “I am also aware that your nation has expressed concern over your….more aggressive neighbor to the south, and I have been authorized to present you with an additional measure to ensure your protection. Are you gentlemen aware of the Type 7 ‘Chu’ surface to air missile system produced by Murakami Armaments?”

Uhtred nodded to one his head of security, who promptly exited to acquire the desired tea. “We are always worried. Our neighbor does not like many aspects of this nation. I am not aware of this system. Likely my son has heard of it; but he is not here today.” No general served on the Council, and with the exception of Uhtred the Elder none of the men assembled had any military experience.

“It is, supposedly, one of the most advanced surface to air missile systems in the world today. Capable of tracking and downing even the vaunted F-22 Raptors of the Ghawkins Air Force. The Confederacy is one of the few nations on the planet to field this system in any number, and we are prepared to extend our support to you through these pieces. They are, however, a delicate piece of machinery, and might require, at least temporarily, a Confederate crew to operate while we prepare your own men to take over. This will also, hopefully, serve to alleviate the concern that Confederate arms will not make it in time should any assault befall your island. Just the mere presence of these systems should be enough to cause your enemies to think twice before undertaking a mission against them, and this second thought can prove to be the final stake in an invasion or a settlement.”

“I am impressed with this offer. Although I do ask that you do not mention this offer to my son, he does not need to anything about this for the time. What does the Confederacy ask for in return? I know that a listening post is requested for one of our western isles. Initially, I beleive the island was offered for church gold but this may very well be a much better offer.” Uhtred smiled at the Bishop. A serving woman bore a simple wooden tray with a cup of tea and all the amenities to the consul, setting it before him without a word before hurrying back through the open side door. “My son also said you offered weapons for our own military, assault rifles and the like, in yet another extension of friendship. I will leave it up to him to figure out what, if anything, is needed. But for myself, the idea of these missiles is rather warming.”

The Consul took a sip of his tea before responding. “Your secret is safe with me” he smiled. “I also have another request, although this one must be kept even more covert than the listening station, your highness. The Confederate Senate has ordered me to ask you for permission to refuel submarines off of your coast. We are aware of the fact that this is a sensitive subject, which is part of the reason why we are so willing to provide such a high value weapon system as the Type 7 to you. We can arrange for these refueling missions to be done in complete secrecy, under cover of darkness, if this is desired.”

“Secrecy is always good. If you can ensure that this does not become so regular occurrence that it is obvious, I do not think anyone will object to you refueling your submarines in the waters surrounding the listening post. A certain neighbor to the south may consider this belligerence, I am not sure. So this is my final answer, if you can ensure that no Serreten outside of this room hears of this, then I have no issue. The utmost secrecy will of course be necessary. If at any time we fear that refueling actions are drawing unwanted attention, then this allowance will temporarily be terminated. Above all else, I do not want war, so as long as there is no war, you can do what you will in the area that I intend to lease to your government.”

“This news will be sure to please the Senate. I sincerely thank you for this, your Highness, and I can assure you that the submarines will not enter into your waters on a regular basis. The utmost will be done to ensure the secrecy of this operation. Is there any other way that the Confederacy may be of service to Serretes today?”

“Nothing of real consequence. I think we have covered all of the most important points.” Uhtred the Elder pushed his hands against the table, his knuckles whitened, as he slowly raised his body. “It was a pleasure meeting with you today. I hope this is only the first of our many fruitful meetings.” The other members of the Council rose as well, and murmured their goodbyes to the delegate.

Wharfs of Saatholm Harbor
Saartholm, Serretes

The grey line of men filed along the wharf. Ships, mostly small fishing boats, rocked in the water. A storm was forming to the west, the usually meek waves now bore whitecaps and every swell rose higher and higher. Occasionally, spray flew up onto the flagstone walkway. Gulls howled incessantly, their voices warning of the coming storm; not even the strays wandered along the wharf. Most of the townspeople stayed inside. The only people out in the whipping wind were fishermen seeing to their boats. Uhtred the Younger frowned. No one is watching us. We are completely alone. The truth of what happens here will not be as publicized as usual. And if SEREA looks weak, people will disregard our presence. And I’ll lose my sway on the people, and everything gets worse after that. Finally the line of men reached their destination, a wide, two story, stone brick building.

Uhtred waited for his men to gather around him. They all knew what they were doing, and since no resistance was expected, there was no need for the usual formality. The men had already divided, ten of them had separated from the rest and surrounded the building, ensuring escape was impossible for the inhabitants of the brothel. Uhtred nodded to one of the men standing closest to the door. The man promptly kicked the door in, and the grey uniformed men pushed through. As soon as they were inside, the three squads swept to the right, left, and center respectively. The cries of the indignant door guard were ignored; he was shoved aside and when he attempted to resist, he was hit in the back of the head with the butt of a gun. His body crumpled to the floor.

Uhtred waited at the door with the dog handler of the unit, the two dogs of the platoon lay quietly at their feet, completely relaxed. His men did not need his help finding the desired criminals. He crouched, and looked at the body of the door man. Resisting SEREA was futile. They always got what they wanted. In the dimly lit atrium, a few women talked on the far side. Uhtred had no issue with them; they had done nothing wrong. The owner of the brothel and therefore the women, had been smuggling in women without SEREA permission. He had already been warned once; he had not heeded the warning.

“Bring me a drink.” Uhtred called to one of the women, who hurried off to bring him his favorite hard spirits. All of the women here knew him. This was his favorite brothel in Saartholm. Technically, he was married which made frequenting brothels frowned upon and illegal in most cases. This did not bother him in the least; his wife was rather unattractive and far too smart for her own good. He spent as much time away from her as he could while still remaining married to her. Usually he came here to drink; he enjoyed the atmosphere of the place. The marriage had been an idea of his father’s, and the woman he had picked for his son bore all of the characteristic marks of a highborn woman. In other words, she was really rather ugly. As the woman brought him his drink, he relaxed his hold on his assault rifle, resting it across his legs. “Thank you.” He smiled at the woman before gulping down the drink in a few swigs.

A few minutes later, three of his men dragged the manager of the establishment into the atrium. Uhtred stood to face the prisoner, who was promptly dropped on the floor as his captors stepped away from. “Take him outside to the yard! No need to mess up the this fine establishments floors.” Uhtred shouted, smiling; the prisoner was dragged back to his feet and forced into the yard of the brothel. The yard was sheltered from the wind on all four sides by the structure of the walls. The front side of the building and either side to the right and left served as the primary area of business of the brothel. The back portion served as a kitchen and housing for all non-prostitute employees. Everything was built from the ever-prevalent stone brick of Saartholm.

“You, Ivar of Saartholm, stand accused and guilty of smuggling. The punishment for an offence as grievous as this in our fair land is death. Do you have any final words for the good men and women assembled here to see the judgement of God enacted upon you?” One of the other men, an officer, read the charges. A small group of prostitutes and soldiers stood watching the man as he knelt in the yard.

The accused said nothing. One of the other men paced down the yard, as he walked he pulled a long grey-goose feather arrow shaft from a quiver on his back, and laid it across the arrow rest of the bow. The bowman spoke as he drew back the massive limbs of the bow, “May God have mercy on your soul”, his face contorted with exertion as he drew the string back nearly to his ear before pausing for a second and releasing the string. The arrow whistled as it flew down range and punched through the neck of Ivar of Saartholm. The scream was cut off before it had a chance to form. His body fell to earth, and did not move again.

Five of the assembled men walked over to the far side of the yard, dropped their assault rifles to the ground, and began digging a pit with their entrenching tools. When the pit was big enough, the body was carried over to the pit. The executioner crouched to wrench the arrow from the man’s neck before rolling the body into a tarp. The tarp was laced up tightly and the body dropped into the pit without ceremony. The hole was filled back up. “No marking. The bastard doesn’t deserve it.” The executioner, Harald of Blackmerisc, growled at one of the younger men fashioning a marker. “He deserves to be forgotten.” As he said this, he wiped the arrow in the grass before dropping it back into the quiver. He rose from his crouch and walked back across the yard. The remaining men finished burying the body quietly.

“What is the other one in for?” He asked the tall officer that read the charges earlier.

“Same thing, but first offense.” The other man replied in the same muted tone.

“So 50 with the flog?”

“Aye, around that. You don’t want to kill him, Uhtred is pissed as it is without mistakes.”

“God, that man is going to scream like a horse with a broken leg. I hate this part.”

“Yet you have no problem killing men?”

“They don’t scream when their dead.” Both men smiled. Uhtred approached them, grinning.

“Odda, I want these accounts fixed. All tax profit from this brothel goes directly to SEREA. I think a pay raise may very well be on the horizon for all of us.” The other men smiled.

“I will see that it is done.” He nodded. Uhtred turned towards the main building.

“Bring out the other one!” Uhtred called across the quiet yard. A moment later two of his men emerged leading a shirtless prisoner.

The same officer, Odda of Lundholm, read the charges. “Harald of Hythe, you stand accused and guilty of smuggling. This is a first offense, a warning if you will. The punishment is 50 lashes.” Uhtred nodded to the executioner, who had since handed his bow to one of the other men and drawn a wicked looking flog from his belt. He grabbed the prisoner by the base of his long braid and forced him against the wall of the building so that his back was easily reached. He stepped back, and stared at the wall in front of him. Slowly, Harald of Blackmerisc raised the whip before bringing it down across the back of the man. Blood spurted from the lacerated skin of the man and Harald of Hythe screamed in pain. All of the prostitutes and a few of the younger men had turned their backs and walked to the far side of the yard, preferring to stand over the freshly buried corpse than to endure the screams of pain. Uhtred watched intently. The man would not last more than a few more blows before he collapsed. One of his other men stood nearer to the executioner than the rest, prepared to catch the body and place it back against the wall. None of this was new to the veteran men of SEREA. This was routine, something that had been practiced since they were young teenagers. Most of them barely reacted. At the 35th blow, Harald of Hythe’s flesh was so lacerated and covered in blood that it was impossible to see any unmarred patches of skin. He collapsed under the 37th blow. The other man picked him up and leaned him back against the wall. He was in too much pain to utter an audible scream now. The final blow landed. The man was carried back inside, to a storage room. One of the women washed the blood from his back. He screamed with every touch. The cuts were disinfected and the man left to lie on his stomach in the dark.

“He will resume running this establishment once he recovers. Militia guard will be posted here to ensure things are running according to law.” Uhtred smiled at his favorite prostitute. She would run things until Harald of Hythe recovered. He would provide a small salary for her from the SEREA budget, that ensured loyalty most of the time.

Odda chuckled, the movement of his face caused the tattooed band of skin that ran along his nose to twist. “What has your father done to anger you this time? Usually, you do not so blatantly skim income taxes.”
“Alot. I have a few plans to fix all of the problems.” Uhtred grinned before walking back through the atrium and into the street. His men followed slowly, most of them smiling. The column walked back through the street and towards the SEREA barracks just east of Saartholm.

[GHawkins]

Spiritwood,
Picon,
Republic of GHawkins
07:00

"Dispatch, 3-Adam-8, clearing code five from Ares Drive northbound. Tow-truck has taken the vehicle away, lane is open again."
"Ten-four on that 3-Adam-8, just in time for rush hour. Traffic division has been informed."

As Police Officer III William McAttee turned his patrol vehicle back onto the highway from the hard shoulder and merged in traffic, his partner, Police Officer II George Westcott threw the microphone back onto the holder.

"I hate motor accidents. Especially when they happen early morning" Westcott said as he took a sip of his now lukewarm coffee, making a disgusted face, "Especially when it makes me coffee go cold."
"Don't be such a whiner" McAttee replied, as they overtook the tow-truck with the now-wrecked red sportscar hooked to its rear.

Westcott kept his eyes locked on the red car, whose front end was all banged up and crumpled, the hood barely attached to the body.
"You know, I have to work my entire life to afford such a car and that spoiled kid goes and wrecks one like it's nothing!"
McAttee shrugged as he did a mirror check, merging into the right lane after he determined he was well clear of the tow-truck.
"Well, I read reports all the time about MVA's there. People give too much gas on that on-ramp, try to overtake one last vehicle before hitting the highway, not knowing there's a divider coming up. And yeah, they smash head on into Fitch barrels there."

"Wait, hold... go back a second, something doesn't make sense there" Westcott said as he placed his coffee back into the cup holder, looking at his partner with a confused expression.
"What?"
"You read reports?" Westcott said dead serious, before breaking into a laugh.
"Oh frak you."

The black and white patrol car took the next off-ramp, leaving the highway that circled the all of the Inner-City of Spiritwood. The city was only just beginning to come to life as the sun slowly rose above the horizon, partially obscured by the hills which surrounded Spiritwood.

Spiritwood's central business district was build on a large island which sat directly in the mouth of the river Apollon. The river, split in two, flowing around the island and rolled into the sea.

The CBD was connected to the rest of the city via four highway bridges and two tunnels. The centre of the island was dotted with skyscrapers of various sizes, housing apartments or offices.

South of the CBD, still on the same island, was the city's container terminal with berthing for a handful of container vessels. Spiritwood wasn't a major port, but it still had its fair share of cargo capacity.

"So, what do you think about that new security bill up for vote soon?" Westcott said after they turned into Market Street, which was the road running from the northern-most point all the way to the southern cargo terminal.
"I don't know man" McAttee replied after clearing one of the many intersections this road had, "It might be a bit too much."

He slowly came to a stop at the next intersection, of which the traffic light obviously did not favour the police officers.
"On one hand, it allows the three letter agencies to bring in suspected terrorists a lot quicker and prevent something like Paritte."
He lightly applied the gas and the squad car began moving as the light turned green. Traffic was light at this time of the day with only delivery vans or those having some early meeting on the road.
"On the other hand... I really don't know man. Cameras on the lampposts of every major city? Facial recognition software at every intersection and airport. It's creepy enough to know that the guys over at the DB can track my phone even when it's turned off."

"Yeah, Smithy always likes to rub in the fact I couldn't get rid of him even when I tried" Westcott dryly replied, "The guy said he can track my phone even when I'm on holiday in Aerilon."
"That's what I mean. They can already track us from here to Virgon if they want. Isn't that enough? I mean, we're cops, we're used to our car being tracked all day long and yet this shit still creeps me out."

They passed one of the more impressive office buildings of the city, constructed of almost nothing but mirroring glass from the outside. It reached 70 floors up, nearly 300 meters in height.
"See, the guys in there, they'd be making the top buck if that bill passed" McAttee said as he glanced at the building, "Poseidon Security Services, one of the biggest security contractors of our great Republic. These are the guys that lobby the crap out of that bill to make it pass. They created the bill and will happily provide for the means to enforce it later on."

"Mhmm... Those guys make more cubits an hour than I make in a year" Westcott said, shrugging slightly.

"How was your holiday to Aerilon by the way?" McAttee changed the subject.

"Well, couldn't have been better" Westcott replied sarcastically, "Her old man still hates my guts. I swear, that guy would've been waiting for us with a shotgun in hand if her mother hadn't stopped him. So instead, he just put me to work. Said he'd 'teach me how real men work' and had me work on his land for almost the entire week. And I couldn't tell the bastard to frak off either because then I would've gotten a mad father-in-law and a pissed off fiancée."

"Sounds like one hell of a way to spend your first week off since months."

"Urgh. He even had separate bedrooms for me and Kathy. I mean, c'mon! I'm twenty-eight, his daughter is twenty-six, we've been dating for over four years and I proposed to her" Westcott said. It was clear by the tone of his voice that he was truly insulted.

"Well, I can kind of understand the man," McAttee said, as Westcott gawked at him, "Hey, I mean... I would most likely treat the guy that is frakking my daughter the same way!"

"Your daughter is six!"

"Okay, bad choice of words. But I mean, as a parent, I wouldn't want to know that my daughter is doing who-knows-what-..."

The radio in the squad car interrupted McAttee's sentence as he instantly fell quiet. Important rule in police work; Don't talk when the radio is talking to you.

"Dispatch to all units in the vicinity of cargo terminal A. We received a call from port authority about a disturbance; Two freighters with no markings arrived at the harbour this morning. They were scheduled to arrive and were allowed to dock, but port authority lost contact with both pilots. Both ships don't acknowledge any calls on the radio."

McAttee reached for the microphone hooked to the radio, holding it to his lips.
"3-Adam-8 responding code two to the disturbance at the harbour."
"3-Adam-40 responding code two as well."
"Copy that Adam 8 and Adam 40."

As McAttee placed the microphone back onto the hook, Westcott was staring at him.
"You are aware you just got us a whole lot of paperwork, right?"

McAttee shrugged as he overtook a delivery van.
"Relax. Sergeant Miller's Adam-40 right now. He's a paper pusher. He'll be the one to file every single report that needs to be filed."
"You better be right."

Soon afterwards, they arrived in the harbour and were let in through the main gate. The gatekeeper was alerted to the fact that police were coming it would appear. The harbour was a maze of containers of various colours and brands all stacked atop each other. It was a true city on its own, or at least as varied as one. Some stacks were "only" four high. Other stacks of containers were at least eight containers high.

Thankfully, the roads were well marked in "container city" and placing a container outside the designated zones usually resulted in a reprimand for the offending truck driver or crane operator. Organised chaos, a word invented for a harbour it would appear.

Following the guidelines of a helpful truck driver which was enjoying a well-deserved break with a cup of coffee and a cigarette, they drove over to the harbour master's office at A-terminal.

A-terminal was one of six such terminals in the port of Spiritwood. Each had facilities to load/unload two ships at a time and process their cargo. These facilities consisted of two berths and and two cranes per berth.

After navigating through the morning "traffic" consisting of trucks with and without containers on their loading beds, they arrived at the small harbourmaster's office for A-terminal. The small office was little more than some prefab container structures slapped together and on top each other and had a dull grey colour.

Outside the office was a black and white patrol car already pulled up near the entrance. McAttee parked slightly offset the patrol sergeant's vehicle before engaging the parking break, turning the engine off and unbuckling.

"Let's see what we got" he said as he opened his door and stepped out, letting the door fall back shut.
"A lot of boring crap about dead batteries for someone's radio" Westcott replied, following McAttee to the door.

They opened the door and entered the office, which was considerably warmer than the outside on this cold morning.

McAttee rubbed in his hands, which got cold outside and of their largely immobile position on the steering wheel. He looked around the rather empty office, which consisted of a water cooler, coffee machine, several desks, a noticeboard with a map of the terminal pinned on it and some miscellaneous office stuff. He spotted his sergeant at one of the desks, flanked by a rather young police officer, a P-I. Sitting on the office chair and in front of the computer was a harbour employee.

"Good morning sergeant" McAttee said as he approached the trio with Westcott on his tail.

Sergeant Miller looked over his shoulder, nodding at both of them before saying something resembling "Mornin'" and turning back to the harbour employee.

"Alright, here's everything that we have about those freighters" the harbour employee said as he pulled up a document on his computer screen. It was still one of those old monitors with a tube, so it was obvious this office wasn't a priority for new equipment.

The Sergeant studied it silently, slowly nodding.

Westcott meanwhile had taken up position at the large window looking into container city. He could see the superstructure of both Liberty class vessels anchored in the distance, but the rest was largely obscured by containers. The cranes were in full view though and were working tirelessly to unload red-coloured containers from the vessels.

Wait a minute, Westcott thought, cranes...

"Did someone give permission for those ships to unload cargo?" he asked, turning his head over to where the harbour employee sat with the three other officers, while pointing out of the window.
"No, we radioed the crane operators not to start unloading until we sort this out" the harbour employee said as he shoved his 80's style glasses further up his nose bridge, turning his swivel chair towards Westcott.
"Well, it looks like they didn't get the message then because they are unloading those freighters right now."

"What...?"

The harbour operator leaned towards the walkie-talkie on his desk, putting it to his lips.

"Office to A-terminal cranes one through four. Damnit guys, I told you NOT to unload those freighters... Hello? Anyone there...?"

McAttee walked over to where Westcott stood, looking at where he pointed.
"It looks like they are in a hurry, they're unloading containers like crazy."

As he said that, he noticed that about fifty meters away from the office, in the direction of the unloading freighters, a figure rounded the corner of a container. He was soon joined by another, but neither were wearing hard hats or wearing safety vests which were a requirement at this harbour. Or any harbour in GHawkins actually (Police officers excepted, their uniforms have fluorescent lining).

But what the two figures did have in common were assault rifles, an AK or a copy of one, with the barrel pointed directly at the two officers looking out of the window. One of the figures pulled back the slide on the side of his rifle by the time McAttee's brain had processed the information it had just been provided with. His actions were immediate though.

"GUN, GET DOWN!" he shouted, as he smashed his body into Westcott, sending both of them to the ground.

Windows shattered, metal was pierced and wood splintered as the 7.62 bullets tore through the small office. The tin sheet metal didn't provide much in the way of protection as both of the figures emptied their magazines into the building, spraying it from end to end.

McAttee kept covering his head and had curled up into a ball, to ensure he was as little a target as possible and because he was scared like shit. Though it only took three to six seconds for both rifles to be empty, having spewed all their rounds into the office, it took an eternity for McAttee.

Only when the shooting stopped and he was sure he still had a heartbeat, he looked around, trying to control the shaking of his hands. He felt a warm wet feeling near his belly and was momentarily afraid he got hit, but he registered no pain. He quickly felt with his hand for his stomach, but felt no wound. Then it struck McAttee it could be Westcott's blood, who he was still laying next to after their tackle.

He turned around, still hugging the ground, looking at his partner, quickly scanning his body if he was hit or not.

He sighed with relief when he saw the wet spot around Westcott's crotch, indicating that he lost control of his bladder when he was shot at; a very natural response.

"George, you alright?" McAttee whispered, looking around the office. The wooden desk they had landed behind had taken the punishment of the bullets send their way. Though sadly, McAttee saw, others weren't so lucky.

Sergeant Miller had a large shoulder wound, blood streaming out of it. He had sought cover after McAttee's call, but was still hit in the shoulder which made his controlled dive to the floor become a crash. As a result, he had hit his head on the edge of the desk he was diving for, knocking him out cold.

The P-I wasn't as fortunate as his Sergeant, laying on his back with three large holes in his chest, staring at the ceiling with expressionless eyes. The vests the police department issued were state of the art, perfect for stopping pistol or SMG rounds. But they didn't have a chance against assault rifle rounds.

The harbour employee was simply a mess. A 7.62 had hit him just above the ear and had taken a good portion of his head with it.

McAttee had to suppress the urge to vomit, giving Westcott another shove instead.
"George!" he whispered again, as he rolled onto his back and pulled his sidearm, a 9mm pistol, from the holster.
"Holy shit" Westcott said, clearly upset (duh) as tears started flowing down his cheeks.
"C'mon man, I need you" McAttee said, reaching with his free hand for his shoulder mounted microphone.

"Officers down! Officers down! A-terminal harbour district. Automatic weapons, need immediate assistance!" he called into it, before letting go of it again.

He slapped Westcott again, in an attempt to get him out of his shock. When he realised that wasn't working, he crawled towards the door which now was a few 7.62 peep-holes richer.

He put one eye to it, looking outside. He saw the two figures that had opened fire on them calmly advancing towards the office, two empty magazines at the place they had opened fire from.

Shit, I have to do something, it echoed in McAttee's mind. If they come into the office, they'll simply put another bullet in me and my partner. And the Sergeant for that matter.

He looked around as far as possible through the small hole. His patrol vehicle was parked with its nose now at an angle to the attackers.

The rifle.

I can make it to my car and then I have a chance. But for frak's sake...

McAttee took a deep breath, looked again at the attackers still walking up and exhaled.

"Frack it" he said, as he pushed himself up. With one shift move, the door flew open and he jumped down the small flight of stairs which gave entrance to the office. Once his shoes hit the concrete, he was already moving the short distance to his black and white. As he moved, he tried aiming at the two attackers and started firing off his sidearm.

The two attackers weren't prepared for incoming fire and both hit the deck, one of them in the open and the other near one of the large light posts. By the time they had recovered and returned fire, McAttee was safely behind the wheelbase of his patrol vehicle, the rounds pinging off it.

McAttee took a deep breath as he heard the now constant pinging of rounds impacting the vehicle and the crack of rounds flying overhead. The lightbar on the top was shattered as a bullet impacted it, covering McAttee in the splinters of the safely glass.

"Just like old times for frak's sake" McAttee muttered as more rounds flew by. Police Officer III William McAttee had served with the GHawkins marines back in the nineties and had been deployed to Kamalbia.

He fumbled with the keys from his pocket. They fell onto the concrete as he failed to grab hold of them, before he quickly picked them up. He tried to slide himself to the back of his vehicle, but several close pings told him that was impossible.

A third weapon suddenly joined the constant crack of the assault rifles. A lighter weapon, which didn't fire nearly as fast.

Back at the place he was pinned down at, McAttee located the source of the third weapon; Police Officer II George Westcott had taken cover near the door and was firing his sidearm blindly in the direction of the two attackers.

"Go!" Westcott shouted at McAttee as he leaned slightly out of cover, firing his pistol again before ducking back.

McAttee left his safe wheelbase position and made his way to the trunk of the cruiser. He slammed the key into the slot, rotating it as the trunk opened. As it did, several rounds hit the plating on the trunk itself, causing McAttee to duck.

But once he could reach inside, McAttee did and pulled out the AR-15 semi-automatic rifle from the weapons rack. He jumped back to his position at the wheel base, which was the best position because the wheels offered the best protection.

"Got it!" he called towards Westcott.
"Good! Now use it please!" Westcott called back as another round impacted close to him.

McAttee rolled over to the front wheel base, propped himself up on one knee and took aim over the hood of the vehicle. His sights were centred on one of the attackers. He ignored the crack of another bullet passing close by as he held his breath, kept both his eyes opened and squeezed the trigger.

Once. Twice. Thrice.

McAttee ducked back in cover, all three of the .223 rounds hit their intended target. McAttee still lived up to his expert rifle qualification.

The first round hit the attacker stuck in the open on the left shoulder. The second round had impacted his torso just below his armpit and by the time the third round hit slightly to the left, the attacker's heart had already disintegrated.

Only now did McAttee notice his radio talking to him.
"3-Adam-8, be advised, backup is enroute, code zero. SWAT units have been mobilised and are deploying."

Finally, some good news, McAttee thought.

He popped himself up again and squeezed some rounds off at the other attacker who was in much better cover. He heard footsteps behind him and Westcott slammed into the vehicle next to him.

"Good to have you back buddy" McAttee said.
"Happy to be here. And thanks, for earlier" Westcott said as he ejected an empty magazine from his pistol, slamming a new one in.

McAtee turned towards Westcott, simply smiling at him.

He then reached for his mic.

"3-Adam-8. I have one wounded, two presumed dead over at the harbourmaster's office. I am returning fire with the attackers and eliminated one of them. Other attacker is still active, over."

He didn't hear the reply to his radio transmission as he suddenly felt the ground vibrate under his feet and hand. A heavy engine pushed into the higher RPM somewhere in the direction of the still active attacker. And he heard the awfully familiar metallic sound of tank threads crushing in their sockets.

McAttee pushed himself up again from his seating position, looking over the hood just as the tank threads ground to a halt.

From the same direction as the two attackers had come on foot, a BMP-1 infantry fighting vehicle had rounded the corner and stopped. It was rusty and the paint was peeling off at several sides. Several figures, all armed with rifles of various make, pushed up alongside the armoured vehicle.

But McAttee barely noticed them. What he did notice, was the 73mm canon pointed directly at him.

McAttee simply turned his head towards Westcott, who had not done service in the army and hadn't placed the tank threads for what they were.

"I'm sorry" McAttee simply said in resignation.

An instant later, the 73mm High Explosive round impacted the police cruiser, blowing it apart. Neither McAttee nor Westcott felt anything as they were instantly killed by the combination of overpressure, heat and shrapnel when their cover turned into their death.

The last thing Westcott saw before his eyes was his beautiful fiancée. If only he hadn't volunteered to take over the morning shift for a fellow officer whose wife was in labour. If only he could've had another week, he'd have married the love of his wife. Life was unfair, was his last thought.

McAttee last thought was the image of his six year old daughter on the swing in the back yard. His only regret was that he wouldn't be there to see her grow up. I am so sorry.

[GHawkins]

"Sixteen, activate sound suppression systems. Fifteen. Fourteen. Thirteen. Eleven. Activate main engine burnoff. Nine. Eight. Seven. Ground Launch sequencer is go for main engine start. Four. Three. Two. One... LIFTOFF. We have liftoff of the Space Shuttle Gaea, on its last mission to the space station to retrieve its crew before it is decommissioned and de-orbited."

"We see the shuttle begin its roll now. GASA reports everything is working in order, that this was a perfect launch. The launch did not have to be postponed, because launch conditions were favourable." ((My launches are easier than those of NASA.))

Suddenly, the TV screen was interrupted by a "BREAKING NEWS" flash, before the screen turned to a suited news anchor.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we apologise for having to interrupt our regular broadcasting. We have received reports of our Picon office about a terrorist attack on the city of Spiritwood. Our reporter has the story."

The screen changed to display a female reporter, standing on one of the hills that surround Spiritwood, the central island of the city visible over her shoulder. Several plumes of black smoke were rising from the city, blown out by to the sea by the prevailing winds.

"Mary, can you tell us what is happening?" the news anchor which was now out of the picture asked.

"Yes Jerry. Though no official comment on or explanation for the situation has been provided by the authorities, from what we have been able to gather an unknown group has launched an attack on police assets a little under an hour ago."

A soft pop was audible and in the distance, a white-grey ball of smoke rose up over one of the lower buildings.

"As you can see behind me, it appears that the situation is quickly spiralling out of control. Just before we tuned in, the announcement was made that the Mayor Anderson has declared a state of emergency within the city limits and called on the military to help restore order."

In the distance, four helicopters flew into the screen, over an area not affected by the presumed violence which concentrated itself in the area directly adjacent to the harbour and disappeared in between the buildings.

An hour later

For a 8 year old, a traffic jam can be the worst thing in life. Reading isn't that much fun yet, looking out of the window quickly gets boring because the view doesn't move very fast. And it's the same car next to you for more than half an hour, with the same creepy old man.

You don't pay attention to the radio as a kid, because it's not important. You don't notice that your father turned up the radio, or that your mother is gasping. You don't hear about the attack on the city you just left, you don't realise what it means.

But as an 8 year old boy, your attention is drawn to exciting things. Be it a sportscar driving past. Be it a bird that sits next to the car. Or an armoured column moving past in the opposite direction.

So when the 21 Stryker Armoured Personnel Carriers belonging to A Company, 1st Battalion, 59th Mechanized Brigade raced past with nearly 90 km/h on the hard shoulder, it was impossible for his attention to be anywhere else.

In the back of the M1126 Stryker Infantry Carrier Vehicle however, Captain Kyle had his attention to all things but the speed they were racing with. He had given the order for the company to move out from the training range as fast as possible and make for Spiritwood best time. He instructed the drivers of his company to stay on the hard shoulder as much as possible, but to ignore speed limits. Later on, the GHawkins Army would receive 84 speeding tickets, 4 for each Stryker the company owned.

Captain Kyle's attention was on his Battlefield Network display, which showed a map of the city of Spiritwood and its surrounding areas. Aside from local law enforcement and Alpha Company of the 8th Marine Brigade which was airlifted into the city to assist with the evacuation, A/1-59 would be the first response to the crisis at hand. But because the BattleNet wasn't operating yet (who would've thought they'd have to use the network on GHawkins soil outside of a training range), the captain had to manually input all the information he had and keep the system on "TRAINING", just to make it function. And the information he had was little to go off.

All information he had was that an unknown number of hostiles had breached the city via the harbour and started terrorising the civilian population using heavy weapons. Law Enforcement had attempted to contain the situation and protect the fleeing civilians, but was severely outgunned and forced on the retreat. Several SWAT and police units had barricaded themselves in buildings, pulling civilians off the streets and providing a safe haven. But these wouldn't last long, especially not if the reports of tracked armour were true.

The marines had set up a safe zone around Evandrus park in the northern part of the city. From there, they were using the helicopters at their disposal to evacuate as many civilians as possible from the island, the roads becoming clogged rather quickly as the situation developed.

That was another headache for Captain Kyle. He'd have to find a way through the bumped to bumper traffic. It was annoying enough to be stuck in traffic in a sedan, let alone in 16 tonnes of steel and guns. Oh, and there were 21 of them. He'd figure that out eventually.

He finished inputting the information he had written on notes and scraps of paper as he received it via the radio, which gave him a rough indication of the tactical situation over at the city. And it was shitty. He looked up at the time display on the computer. He'd have about 15 minutes to figure it out.

20 minutes later

A/1-59 had made their way across the north-western bridge with the help of several fire engines which also had to make across the bridge. The engines had the lights and sirens to alert drivers to clear the road. And if that didn't work, the Stryker's bumper was usually enough to remind a person of the law requiring people to yield for emergency vehicles.

Captain Kyle had set up his Command Post over near the Marine's Command post at Evandrus park. His M1126 Stryker parked a line of trees, backing up besides them so it'd be somewhat concealed. His XO's Stryker parked further down the path, so that a lucky shot would never take out both vehicles and thus decapitate the company's leadership. The Humvee pulled up near the M1126, nearly tipping over the equipment trailer it was dragging along. The trucks that were also part of the headquarters section both dispersed in between the XO's Stryker and the Captain's.

Two of the Rifle Platoons, each consisting of 4 M1126 Stryker Infantry Carrier Vehicles and 45 men, took up positions on the the southern intersections which gave access to the park, while the third platoon held back to reinforce either. The Mobile Gun System platoon spread out to have one MGS cover each platoon.

Captain Kyle called over the platoon leaders and went over his plan. During their drive into the city, the Captain had been able to make contact with Battalion Headquarters and he'd been given more details and an actual mission.

The Battalion S2, charged with intelligence and information operations for the battalion headquarters company, gave Kyle a clearer picture of the situation.

The enemy in the city was reportedly at company strength presently, while reinforcements were still unloading at the harbour front, now confirmed to be originating from the two freighters. The GHawkins Air Force was hastily arming a flight of A-10's with ground attack ordnance and trying to get them airborne as fast as possible. It had no aircraft standing-by for a ground-strike because it was a highly unlikely scenario an attack were to occur on GHawkins soil.

The friendly situation was improving however, now that Bravo company was underway to the city and a military police company was en route as well. Furthermore, all leaves had been cancelled and troopers were being called back to bases all over the country. The 71st Armoured Infantry Brigade was mobilizing to respond to the attack as well, with Charlie Company of their third battalion already loading up.

The enemy was indiscriminate with their targets, firing on law enforcement, emergency services and civilians alike, intend on causing as many casualties as possible. Because of that, high civilian casualties were likely the closer one went to the harbour front, the hot-spot of this attack.

Via law enforcement channels, the reports about the enemy using armoured vehicles was confirmed. Identified so far were BMP-1's, one of the earliest production models based on descriptions, old Gaul AML-60 armoured cars, and BRDM 1's. All in all, museum pieces, but lethal nonetheless. Besides armoured vehicles, the enemy also used various technicals, armed and unarmed, to provide rapid mobility.

The Battalion's S-3, the operations officer, elaborated on the for now developed plan.

To their south-east, an entire SWAT team had taken up position in a corner café and were bunkered down with a large group of civilians, one which continued to grow. The SWAT team commander was not confident that they would be able to get the civilians out without losing a lot of them, because the unknown enemy was closing in on the café from the west and they were hearing gunfire from the direct south.

A/1-59's task was therefore to relieve the SWAT team from the café and clear a route to Evandrus park so the Marines could evacuate the civilians.

Once in position, A/1-59 would be on the eastern flank of the city. Estimates were that by the time they had achieved this position, B/1-59 would have deployed and was ready to apply force on the western flank.

Both A and B company would then proceed to push south before turning into one another just short of the harbour with C company coming up the centre. A classic pincer move, it would tie down most of the enemy's force in the centre of the island, surrounded by the entire Battalion.

Once in place, Alpha and Bravo Company would hold the line against enemy forces still coming from the harbour, reinforced by the HHC's (Headquarters and Headquarters Company) and the Mortar Platoon (sniper teams spotting from the high rise adjacent to the harbour). C Company would be on mop up duty and would eliminate enemy holdouts until the 71st Armoured Brigade arrived.

Once armoured elements of the 71st were in place, it would pass through the A/1-59 and B/1-59 line and charge the harbour. The hope was that by that time, the Air Force would've already commenced CAS (close air support) runs against targets in the harbour, priority on the freighters. But because that was an uncertainty, the Armoured Infantry's Warrior II's, better armoured and armed than the Strykers, were given the honour of assault.

Captain Kyle proceeded to inform the platoon leaders of the route he had worked on. They'd leave the park via the south-eastern corner and split the Company into three groups. 1st Platoon, along with one of the M1128 Mobile Gun Systems would turn onto Main Street and advance directly south. Despite the name, it was actually a six lane boulevard running from the top of the city all the way through it to the south, where it connected to the highway.

2nd Platoon and 3rd Platoon would advance respectively on a parallel road west and east of Main Street, splitting the remaining two MGS Strykers between them.

The infantry would lead in squad formation down the streets, with the MGS rolling behind them in the centre. That way, light enemy combatants would be engaged by the infantry before they could engage the vehicles in close quarters with rocket propelled grenades, while the Strykers were able to provide fire support against anything the infantry couldn't handle.

They'd push south until they reached the intersection Main Street - Equator Street. This street ran from the easternmost point of the island to the westernmost point of the island and intersected Main Street at something that resembled a square. It was an iconic place for Spiritwood and the enemy forces knew it, because the battalion S-2 had pointed out an enemy force apparently occupied it.

Once cleared, they'd turn eastward onto Equator Street and run it down about halfway to the shore, where the police holdout was located. The company would secure the area and assist the civilians and law enforcement to evacuate back to Evandrus park.

Back in his Command Post, Captain Kyle watched on his screen as the three reinforced platoons advanced on their assigned routes.

The BattleNet (short for Battlefield Network) was an integrated system which networked every soldier and every vehicle. This allowed a commander to immediately see where his units were, what they were doing and allowed him to adjust his plans on the fly based on the information the network fed him. A soldier's location was updated constantly, courtesy of the GPS locator, removing the fog-of-war where friendly units weren't where their commander thought they were. Contact information was immediately available to commanding officers, allowing them to get a better picture of the resistance their forces faced.

So far so good the Captain thought as the three platoon icons advanced unchallenged through the surrounding streets. 1st Platoon reported that they had to continuously swerve around abandoned civilian vehicles that were littering the roads, which made the vehicle's advance slower. The infantry however enjoyed more cover that way.

2nd Platoon kept running into fleeing civilians, which they directed to the rear of the column and further down the park after ensuring they were in fact GHawkins civilians. Nobody wanted to let through one of the enemy to find out he started shooting them in the back. This slowed 2nd Platoon down considerably, so much that it lagged behind on 1st Platoon which was still zig-zagging through traffic.

It was however 3rd Platoon that got first blood that day. At least, first blood for the home team.

As Captain Kyle was watching on the BattleNet display, the icon representing 3rd Platoon started flashing red, indicating that they were in contact or at least firing at something.

Kyle used his cursor to select the 3rd Platoon icon and double clicked it, opening a new screen which showed all platforms equipped with remote cameras. He double clicked on the camera for the leading Stryker, the MGS. This opened a small screen, displaying what the commander of the Stryker saw through his remote weapon station. Prominently displayed was the 105mm gun, aimed down the street but otherwise silent.

Beyond the nose of the Stryker, Kyle could see that the infantry of 3rd Platoon had scattered. One squad had taken cover behind some civilian vehicles, another squad down the alleyway on the left. Yet another squad was hugging the walls of one of the buildings.

Further in the distance, beyond 3rd Platoon, Kyle could see two pickup trucks in a nose to nose V formation in the middle of the road. Though the image wasn't all that sharp, Kyle could see the pixels light up indicating muzzle flashes.

The dismounts of 3rd Platoon were returning fire with their rifles. It only took a few seconds more for the weapons squad to set up their M240's and open fire on the trucks, raking them with 7.62 rounds.

Despite that, Kyle could still see muzzle flashes. One of the enemy dismounts that had jumped from the loadbed of the pickup even tried firing an RPG at the platoon. He was rewarded by a burst from a SAW located somewhere to the right of the street with Delta Squad, causing the RPG he fired to miss the Platoon and instead smack into a car parked halfway in between the two combatants.

It was just after the RPG had detonated and flipped the car onto its side that 3rd Platoon's 1st and 2nd Strykers came into action, running up on the sidewalk on both sides of the MGS, opening fire with their .50 M2's.

The amount of fire being put on the two pickups and their former occupants was amazing, as bullet after bullet tore into the light skinned vehicles. When soon after the 40mm grenade launchers made their entrance to the play, the match was soon decided.

3rd Platoon reported in their status; Enemy contact made and eliminated. No casualties. Kyle watched as the 3rd platoon indicator started moving again, with the 1st and 2nd indicators doing likewise.

The Company approached the square, their first objective, meeting only minor resistance along the way. 2nd Platoon encountered an enemy force of approximately squad strength which engaged the platoon with automatic weapons and RPGs. They were quickly dispatched by the infantry, resulting in only one soldier lightly injured to his face when the windshield of the car he took cover behind shattered. Nothing a field bandage couldn't fix and he was considered still combat effective.

Kyle transmitted his orders via the BattleNet. 1st Platoon would apply pressure on the centre, while 2nd platoon would pressure the enemy on the western flank. 3rd Platoon would bypass the enemy and turn on them, acting as the anvil for the attack in which 1st and 2nd were the hammer.

Down on Main Street, the infantry was preparing themselves to leapfrog over to the square as the Strykers spread out to maximise their frontage to support the dismounts. They could clearly see several fires raging on the square as the smoke was drifting up high above them.

There were however no enemy infantry or vehicles to be seen, which was conflicting with their intel that the enemy was in fact occupying the square. Because of the danger of charging right into an ambush, 1st and 2nd platoon halted while 3rd platoon would make its flanking manoeuvre.

The one-sided engagement that followed would be dubbed the Equator Square turkey-shoot. The company commander had been right in halting the advance of the 1st and 2nd platoons, because as soon as 3rd platoon crossed a little to the east, the enemy that had been lying in ambush opened fire on what they thought was the attack on the square, thereby exposing themselves to return fire. The armoured vehicles that had been hiding in the alleys all came scrambling out to get a piece of 3rd platoon, which had already taken cover by now with the Strykers not even exposed.

The infantry belonging to 1st Platoon were stunned for a second as suddenly tens of armed men charged the eastern part of the square, running right through the intersection, exposing themselves as if 1st Platoon wasn't there. Whoever these guys were, they sure as hell were not professionals. But to be this dumb...

"LIGHT THEM UP" was the rallying call of 1st Platoon's Lieutenant, which lead by example as he started putting round after round downrange. Quickly following his example was the weapons squad, whose M240's started cutting away at the enemy, soon joined by every other weapon in the platoon's arsenal.

It took a second for the enemy combatants to realise that their heroic charge against everything they hated wasn't that well thought out, as suddenly they found themselves being cut down by the dozens.

In the Mobile Gun System, they finally had their first target as an ancient-looking BMP-1 rolled into their firing envelope.
"GUNNER, ENEMY APC, FRONT" the commander called as the vehicle drove into his camera screen.
"IDENTIFIED. HEAT UP" the gunner called back, clarifying that he spotted the BMP as well and that a HEAT, High Explosive Anti Tank, round was in the tube. The HEAT round was designed to destroy lightly skinned enemy vehicles, such as the personnel carrier now in the gunner's sight.
"FIRING!" the MGS commander called via his radio, to alert the dismounts that a HEAT round was soon going to be flying over their heads, before he called the actual "FIRE" command.
"ON THE WAAAAY!" the gunner called, before pulling the trigger. The entire vehicle recoilled as the 105mm canon cracked, spewing out smoke and HEAT round.

Because the range wasn't that big, the HEAT round appeared to impact on the left side of the BMP almost instantaneously. As the HEAT projectile impacted the BMP, its copper core melted and formed a jet stream, cutting through the BMP's armour, electronics, ammunition and crew. The resulting ammo detonation caused the BMP's turret and rear-top crew hatches to blow open, as the vehicle ground to a halt.

2nd Platoon now joined the fray from the west, firing as they went. By the time the square went silent again, three vehicles, one BMP and two armoured cars, were burning ferociously with nearly eighty dismounts dead or dying. Whoever they were, Kyle thought, they weren't very well trained. It reminded him of a story the teacher, a former major, at the GHawkins Military Academy in Castra Batavan, Picon. A veteran of the GHawkins failed humanitarian mission to Kamalbia, he had told the class that if the enemy was fighting you with hatred, they'd charge at you the first chance they got just to draw your blood. And if effectively used, it could work to one's advantage.

1.5 hours after Equator Square Turkey-shoot

The 1st Battalion of the 59th Mechanized Brigade was all accounted for three hours into the battle for the city. A/1-59 had taken evacuated the civilians from the police holdout. By the time they had cleared the road back to the park, they had sustained three causalities, two dead and one wounded, when an enemy fighter appeared to surrender only to blow himself up.

Bravo Company had arrived as planned and was in the process of clearing their quarter of the city. They had encountered stiff resistance from armoured vehicles, but were at their assigned spot, closing the pincer on the centre of the island along with Alpha company, which had regained the initiative after clearing the holdout.

Throughout the city however, GHawkins army forces found horrible scenes of civilians shot on the streets, in their cars, in the subway. The enemy had gone to great lengths to kill as many innocents as possible, sparing no one. However once they were confronted with organized resistance to their terror, they were quickly overwhelmed. It was clear that this was no professional attack and that the enemy was no organized force. This attack had slowly gone onto get the label "terrorist" attack.

The air force had made good on its promise and a flight of two A-10 Thunderbolts had bombed "the crap" out of the two freighters, strafing the ships and what appeared to be the assembly area on the docks with 30mm rounds from their miniguns, hydra unguided rockets and AGM Mavericks missiles. Their Battle Damage Assessment was that both freighters were heading for the bottom, one broken in two.

The leading elements of the 71st Armoured Infantry were already passing by Evandrus park, as the colonel of the 1st Battalion, 59th Mechanized called his company commanders together at the park.

"Alright gentlemen. I wanted to give you an update on the latest before you return to your companies. Alpha and Bravo have completed their pincer move and are holding here and here" the Colonel said, pointing to the respective icons on his command display, "Charlie company has been steadily pushing up the centre but have met heavy resistance here, at the Poseidon Security Services building. It appears the enemy occupied the building and is using it as a holdout."

"That'd be the first building they occupied then" Kyle dryly noted, drawing the attention of the remainder of the assembly.
"Sorry Captain?" the colonel asked.
"Well, I noticed that throughout the operation, the enemy never occupied buildings and were always on the move. I have been monitoring Charlie's chatter during the drive up here and noticed that the enemy is holding onto that building for dear life. It struck me as a little odd that they appear to completely disregard their own lives, on a suicide mission, kill as many of our civilians, always continue to be on the move to strike as much chaos and destruction as possible... And then occupy a single building."

The colonel scratched his chin, looking at his display.
"If you put it like that, it is a little odd. I'll ask the S-2 about that, perhaps he could shed some light on it"

When that answer got him a nod in reply from all his company commanders, he continued with his briefing. He detailed how the 71st would move up to the lines of A and B companies and charge into the harbour to smother the remains of whoever had thought it a good idea to attack the Republic. They'd roast whatever the A-10's hadn't, before joining 1-59 for mop up duty.

Soon after, they all left the M1130 Commander's Vehicle, which was a little cramped for six people to be in at the same time. Though the sound of gunfire and explosions was still audible, it wasn't as prevalent as when he had first arrived, Captain Kyle thought. He looked up to the sky just as another helicopter took off carrying a full load of civilians.

As he did that, the entire sky suddenly went white. No, not just the sky, everything went white. Adam Kyle felt himself being thrown through the air, as his eardrums ruptured. He felt a tremendous amount of heat on his skin, as if he had spontaneously combusted.

He was in a right state of mind to cover up into a ball once he felt he had hit the grass. He could feel a very hot wind blow over him, as if someone had thrown him into a tornado.

Captain Kyle would eventually drag himself underneath the Stryker he had just exited and lay there for another hour with 2nd and 3rd degree burn wounds covering most of his body. He was blind to both eyes and lost all his hearing. He would eventually be found like that, totally unaware of anything but his pain, by a CBRN (Chemical, Biological, Radiation and Nuclear) unit.

In an instant, Charlie and a large part of Bravo company of the 1st Battalion, 59th Mechanized, most of the 3rd Battalion 71st Armoured Infantry, the surviving members of the Spiritwood SWAT unit and about 7.000 other people that hadn't had the chance to evacuate the city were evaporated as the 6 kiloton nuclear device detonated right at the heart of Poseidon Security Services' building.

Even when the mushroom cloud now forming over Spiritwood was slowly rising higher as it was blowing out to sea, other people, unknown parties, continued with their hidden agendas. For now, everything was going to plan. All players were acting and reacting as they were supposed to.

[Blackhelm Confederacy]

Confederate Intelligence Services Building
Paradise City

The men assigned to the Ghawkins unit sat glued to their screens, some watching various media reports coming from the country and others getting live feeds from agents on the ground. Being one of the largest cities in Ghawkins, the place was virtually crawling with CIS men, and while most of them had high tailed it out of there with the rest of the civilians at the first signs of trouble, a handful stayed behind, many silently tailing the approaching Stryker columns or observing groups of terrorists from perches in apartments and offices high over the city. It was the reports coming from the men watching the Strykers that had caused the most concern in the room, however.

Initial reports provided standard information on the activity of the Ghawkins troops, their uniforms, their numbers, their movements, etc. Nothing that one couldn't find on a standard iiwiki search of the Ghawkins army. Things took a turn, however, after the so called "Equator Turkey Shoot." Literally dozens of enemy troops, complete with supporting armor, launched an ambush against a group of Ghawkins troops only to be cut down in seconds, barely a shot fired and no casualties taken on the side of the government. Immediately, shockwaves were sent through the CIS network. It was well known that the Ghawkins military was made up of highly professional troops, but what just happened was almost unexplainable. An ambush, even laid by a group of men who had never fired a gun before, should have at least caused some loss of life, at least a severe wound to a soldier or too. But here, in this intersection, the Ghawkins military laid the enemy down in droves without loss at all. The enemy was not just unprofessional here, they were virtually inept. A level of ineptness that could really only mean one thing: False Flag.

Word quickly started to circulate throughout the room that this was a set up. The Ghawkins government was butchering their own people, and was going to blame the Blackhelm Confederacy or her allies for the atrocity. The country could rally itself behind the assumed valiance and skill of its military, and rally most of the rest of the region to its cause. With such loss of life, there would be little that the Confederacy could do. The word soon spread to the offices of the Confederate military, and silently, nuclear silos around the country began to come online, preparing for the inevitable apocalyptic attacks that would follow the assumed false flag attack.

The Chancellor, meanwhile, was not informed, not were any members of the Senate. Instead, many of the political class talked amongst themselves, some believing that revolution had finally come to the streets of Ghawkins, and the people were finally rising up to throw off the corrupt socialist regime that ruled over them. There was even some talk that the future Ghawkins, one in which a friendly government is emplaced upon the ashes of the current one, could be friendly with the Confederacy and together they could ensure peace throughout the region. All of these hopes ended, however, when Confederate satellites detected a nuclear explosion within Spiritwood. The communications from the agents went dead. Everything went dead. The chambers of the Senate, once filled with the sounds of boisterous Senators cheering forth a revolution, and the packed CIS command centers full of agents communicating to their comrades across the world or watching live media reports, all went silent. A pin could be heard dropping as men across the city suddenly stopped what they were doing and stared at the screens before them, jaws agape. This was not a false flag operation. Not even Ghawkins, as treacherous as the nation was, would unleash a nuclear weapon upon their people.

Some in the Air Force were not quite convinced, however, and kept their hands at the ready to fire, sweat beading up on their foreheads as they contemplated what the world would be like if indeed Ghawkins used this attack as a pretext to unleash a nuclear holocaust against Hesperidesia. Their eyes remained locked on satellite feeds, waiting for any signs of a launch from the country against their own. The entire fate of the region would depend on the next few minutes, as officers across the country could feel their hearts beating in their ears, looking for any sign that the end of the world was about to be upon them.

Looking at the screen before him in his own office, Chancellor Eaglebrand silently picked up the phone on his desk, the one with a direct line to the Ghawkins government, and listened as it rang.

Saartholm Port
Serretes

While chaos was ripping apart the city of Spiritwood, the container ship Olympia sailed smoothly into her birth in the city of Saartholm. Stack upon stack of cargo containers covered her deck, with many more inside her hull as the captain and several other men made their way down the gangplank to meet with their Serretan counterpart on the dock. One of the men, a tall man with close cropped brown hair and deep green eyes, stepped forward as he met a Serretan officer who had come to greet them.

"We have brought some of the equipment you asked for. Most of this is farm equipment. Tractors, tools, fertilizer, the likes of that. That is insignificant, however. We have several hundred assault rifles for your military to test. For that purpose, I present you Centurions Greystone and Miller" he said, motioning to two of them men behind him who stood at attention, their arms folded behind their back.

"Additionally, we have a full Type-7 battery on board, which I personally will assist you with."

As he spoke, a number of other Confederate specialists were making their way to the country aboard civilian airliners. They wore no uniforms, and were unarmed, so as to blend in with anyone else on the plane. These soldiers would assist the Serretan forces in the operation of their newly acquired weapons, and help set up those that were soon to come. Several more planeloads were soon to arrive, as were several more cargo vessels bringing in all manner of hardware to help solidify the islands. The next few shipments would bring several more assault rifles and SAM batteries, as well as six VERA-NG platforms and a number of Krashuka EW systems. By the end of the week, a anti-aircraft defense network, complete with the officers and knowledge to run them, would be established in the Serretan isles, and the nation would be made that much safer from that outside threats that might wish to do her harm.

[Serretes]

Holdings of the King
Outside Saartholm

Uhtred the Younger grunted in annoyance as his wife yelled at him over something he had done. I’ll cut out that bitch’s tongue one day. Not yet. But when I am King… His line of thought trailed off abruptly as a clay pot flew past his head and slammed into the wall. Almost instinctively, the long-bladed scramasaxe appeared in his hand and he took three steps towards the woman, who promptly began screaming at him once again, this time in fear. The door of the room opened, and one of his men slipped into the room.

“I hope I am not disturbing anything, lord.” The man chuckled as Uhtred sheathed the knife. “Your father wishes to know why you aren’t at the council meeting right now.” His accent was heavy, heavier than even Uhtred’s and he clipped his words as he spoke.

Uhtred walked out of the room silently. The man followed him grinning. “So marriage isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, eh?” He laughed again.

“You don’t even know. Damn her to Hell.” Uhtred pouted.

He stepped through the door into the meeting chamber. No one inside rose to greet him. I am the heir. None of these people will be alive when I am king. Especially not those two. He stared vehemently at the corpulent figures of his little brother and Bishop Æthelred. His little brother, two years his younger and used to the finer things in life, got along very well with the Bishop of Saartholm. They were hunched over discussing something and both slowly looked up at Uhtred as he stared down his hooked nose at them. “Why don’t we pay attention to the meeting and stop trying to figure out which brothel you’ll be frequenting tonight?” Uhtred asked loudly, making sure everyone in the room heard him.

“I am a priest. I don’t partake in such organized deviance.”

“Your finances say otherwise.” Uhtred laughed, as did a few of the other men in the room.

“Uhtred, leave us alone. Your punitive mind wouldn’t understand what we are discussing.”

“Aldhelm, I’ll cut your tongue out one of these days. Then your wife will love you even less and you’ll frequent the brothels more than you already do.” He spat at him.

“Uhtred. Uhtred!” Uhtred the Elder called down at his eldest son. “Sit down.” His son glanced at him, but did nothing. “Uhtred. Damn you to Hell. I said sit down!” The old man slammed his fists into the table, and half stood up before collapsing back into his chair in exhaustion. Uhtred smiled, and then sat down, drawing the scramasaxe and a whetstone from his belt pouch. He ran the stone down the steel of the blade, stopping to dip both in the water pitcher on the table. He grinned at his brother. Or at least his mouth did. His eyes were another matter entirely.

“So, the Confederacy has held true to their word. Their first battery of Type 7 missiles arrived. Uhtred, they sent assault rifles for you to test.”

“Why didn’t I hear of these missiles before?”

“Because you are too incompetent and can’t keep your mouth shut.” His younger brother grinned.

“Watch your back, you fat bastard. The only reason I don’t kill you now is because it would be wrong to submit our father to such bloodshed. But one day, when he is not on this earth anymore, you and your Bishop friend should….” Uhtred’s accent, worsening with his mood, made him nearly impossible to understand.

One of the other men cut him off. “Uhtred, there will time for all of this later.” Uhtred grimaced but nodded, and returned to his knife.

“They also sent us some excellent agricultural equipment. Tractors and the like.”

“And next you will tell me they sent tanks.”

“Actually, no tanks. Anyways, Uhtred, I want those weapons tested right away. They are still in the harbour aboard the ship that they arrived on. You are dismissed.”

Uhtred sheathed the knife. “And Aldhelm is not? I forgot I wasn’t your favorite child.” He turned and walked out of the room.

Once he had gone, his father spoke again. “Today provides us all with more reason as to why my son should never rule.”

“I can only agree.” Another old man, the Pope of the Serreten Church, in the room spoke. “I have lived a long time, and never have I seen a more impudent or belligerent leader than Uhtred the Younger. This raises an interesting question as to who will succeed you, Lord.”

“It is a good question. I have thought about this before. Uhtred is already powerful enough with the control of SEREA, the port authority, the warlords in the west, and some of the outlying militias. I think it was a mistake for me to ever give him control of SEREA. It is too late to change that now, every one of those men would willingly die for him. But if he is no longer the heir, then his power is somewhat limited by the church and the king. My son Aldhelm is next in line to the succession, if Uhtred were to be removed from his place in the line of succession.”

“You mean you wish for Uhtred to be killed?” Bishop Æthelred, asked with a smile.

“No. I will not condone the killing of my eldest son. Besides, he is far too useful as a leader of SEREA. Few leaders have ever been quite so effective as he is now. My daughters also need to be married off to secure the loyalty of some of the warlords in the west, they will not agree to that unless Uhtred is there to assure them that it is a good move, as a friend. I shudder to think of the deviance of people if Uhtred is not around to enforce at least some decency.”

“You want us to change the legal papers? Make Aldhelm your heir?” A man in a dark suit, one of the head attorneys asked.
“Yes, that is what I want done. As quickly as possible. After Uhtred tests the new weapons, I am sending him to broker a marriage in the west which should keep him away from us for long enough to get the papers changed. I want you to start on that right a way. If you will excuse me, I have prayers to attend to and a daughter to say goodbye to.” The king stood up, and slowly walked towards the door leaning, leaning on his cane.

Once the old man had walked out of the room, Aldhelm turned to the Bishop. “We have some matters to discuss then. You will meet me in the usual place?”

“Aye.”

Saartholm Harbor

The group of SEREA men rose to meet Uhtred as he walked towards them. Three full platoons had assembled and sat waiting by the mooring of the Confederate ship. “I want all the weapons they sent us collected and taken back to the storage facilities at Blackmerisc. Platoon 1 and Platoon 2 will proceed with me to the west, my father wishes for us to broker a marriage between Eadric of Wesbourough and my sister, Evelyn. Platoon 3 is to stay stationed at Blackmerisc, and test the new weapons as well as ensure all of our equipment is in proper shape. By the end of the year, tensions will be running higher. We leave with the tide tomorrow morning, on the Direwolf.” Uhtred named one of the two larger corvettes at his disposal. He turned, and walked off towards the tavern that his younger sister was waiting at, waiting for him to take her west for her marriage to the troublesome, young warlord.

Said Tavern
Saartholm Harbor

Uhtred passed underneath the door of the building. People sat about drinking, enjoying themselves in general. He scanned the crowd, looking for his sister. Strange that she should tell me to meet her here. She is not the type that drinks during the day. She hardly drinks as it is. He pushed past the door guard, who nodded at him, recognizing the hair, beard, and skull tattooing of his superior. Uhtred handed the man his assault rifle before passing all the way into the tavern. It was not proper to carry assault weapons into a tavern. His knives still hung from his belt, strapped across his body and within easy reach. He approached the man behind the bar.

“I am Uhtred the Younger…”

Before he could finish his sentence, a look of fear passed across the face of the man. “How may I help you? As far as I know, we have breached no customs or laws.” He stammered.

Uhtred smiled. “You have done nothing wrong. I just need some information.” At least I still scare some people. “Is there a girl here? Looks like she is about 19? Blond and tall?”

“Aye, she is in the back with someone else.”

“Who is she with?”

“Your brother and his Bishop friend.”

“So this is where those two drink? Do you know which brothel they like to frequent?”

“Aye. It is. From what I have heard, they frequent the one SEREA shut down a month ago. Since that happened, I’m not really sure.”

“You have been most helpful. For your silence.” Uhtred passed him a few coins across the bar. “Lead me to them.”

The man nodded, called over his replacement to handle the bar. He lead Uhtred down a dark hallway. Before he had a chance to knock, Uhtred shook his head.

“They always drink in this room?”

“For the most part, yes.”

“I will send a man over to look it over then. Again, for your silence.” Uhtred passed him noticeably more coins than before. “And I mean absolute silence. I never spoke to you about anything except the whereabouts of my sister.”

“Aye.”

“Fetch my sister from inside of there. Tell her I am waiting in front of the building for her and that we need to get going, now.”

Uhtred walked back down the dark hallway, through the tavern, and back onto the street. A few minutes later, a tall, blond, girl emerged. She hugged Uhtred. “You will not believe what Aldhelm and Bishop Æthelred have been discussing.”

“Tell me later. Once we are on the Direwolf.”
Uhtred stooped to pick up her bag, and led her down to the wharf where his men were outfitting the Direwolf as well as unloading weapons from the Confederate ship. One of his men handed him one of the new AR-2 weapons they had just received, and he promptly turned over his old weapon.

Deck of SNF Direwolf
Saartholm Harbor

“So Aldhelm was talking with the Bishop. They seemed to forget that I was sitting with them. Anyways, Aldhelm started off on a treasonous rant. He said something about him being the new heir, now that father has decided you are unfit to rule. Then he and the Bishop agreed that you need to be killed, as you are still too much of a threat, even if Aldhelm is king.”

“Fucking hell. Of course they would do that.”

“What will you do?”

“Nothing right now. Eventually, I’ll kill Aldhelm and the Bishop and burn down his monastery. This also means that father needs to increase his security detail and send Aldhelm away. Somewhere far away like Hythe. He is hardly patient. I’ll have the Bishop handled within the week, same with his monastery. I can’t do anything to Aldhelm while father still lives. Thank you, Evelyn. I owe you for all of this.”

“Odda! Odda!” Uhtred jumped up and started shouting. The man came running up, slightly concerned.

“What’s wrong that you need me so desperately?”

“I need you to recall all SEREA units to Blackmerisc. Give them the new weapons. I’ll give you further orders in a week. This is bad. Everything is going to shit. I want both the Bishop and my brother tailed at all times. Neither are to go anywhere without my knowledge, and everyone they meet is to be recorded, including each other. I am clear?”

“Aye, lord. Anything else?”

“I’ll tell you everything later. Make sure my sister is safe as well. Assign a full squad to her protection until we leave tomorrow morning.”

“Aye.” The man turned away, and ran towards the bridge of the ship, issuing orders to the new security detail.

“You will go to see father about Aldhelm being the heir now?”

“No. He does not need to know that I know. I will just order his security detail to increase itself. I’ll confront him later about this.” Uhtred turned to watch the men loading crates of weapons into the hold of the ship. “This relationship with the Confederacy, is much better than I thought it would be. As long as they can keep all of those other foreign bastards out of my country, then I will allow them what they want.”

[GHawkins]

250 km north of Spiritwood,
Picon,
Republic of GHawkins
10:20

"You know how you can notice if a pilot is flying too low?" Specialist Aguilera called out to Sergeant Torrey, who was sitting next to him on the skid of the MH-6 Little Bird.
"Tell me" Torrey called back over the sound of the wind and the rotors.
"When you have to look UP to see the squirrels in the trees!"
"Very funny" the pilot, sitting to Aguilera's rear inside the canopy, replied via the radio, before janking his nimble little helicopter into another tight, nearly impossible turn.

The helicopter was following an old logger's trail through Balder forest, a large forest which spanned some hundred kilometers through the centre of Picon. And the helicopter was, matter of fact, flying below the tree tops.

Sitting on the other side of the helicopter were Staff Sergeant Higgins and Corporal Andrade. The SWOB team had executed a perfect takedown two days ago in Kamalbia, capturing a known arms dealer and extracting him. He had been handed over to a GSA unit in Agrincourt, where the withdrawal of GHawkins forces wouldn't make an extraction from that country look as suspicious. Where the hell the guy went after that, nobody from the team knew.

What the team did know at that time, was that they had been back on GHawkins soil for a good five minutes before being ordered into another aircraft. Events happened fast after that, with orders coming down for them to gear up and get set.

Just prior to them boarding the chopper they were now riding with, word reached them of the attack on Spiritwood. After that, they were sure that whatever they were going to do which required suppressed weapons and breaching gear, it had something to do with that attack.

"Ghost team, Command. Sorry to ruin your planned R 'n R, but this is of the highest priority" a voice spoke into the team's earpiece.
"No problem Colonel, we understand" Higgins replied.
"Alright, here's the situation. The city of Spiritwood was attacked by a large enemy force, which was inserted at the docks via civilian freighters. The entire attack appears to be aimed at causing as much collateral damage as possible, especially causing casualties among civilians. We don't know why they're attacking there or how they got through the net, which leads us to believe this is at least partially an inside job. Intelligence has given a high vote of confidence on the attackers being part of the Astyrian Liberation Army, or ALA."

"The Frankhauser-or-whatever-his-name-was-guy was supplying the ALA, wasn't he?" Higgins asked.
"That's affirmative. After the Paritte bombings, they wanted him brought in, which you pulled off perfectly. This might be retaliation for your grabbing of Frankhauser, but we don't consider that likely. You don't put this together in just two days, not something on this scale. This must have been planned in advance. Which means they must've had someone on the ground before this all went down. And that's where you come in. Activate your HUD."

The team complied, sliding their OLED display in front of their eyes so they could see the data Colonel West, commander of the SWOB, was transmitting to them.

"You'll be inserted near a cabin inside the forest. Private property, very remote and not listed on any maps. It's not even connected to the power grid, it appears it's completely self sufficient in that respect. The plot is registered to one Kalil Mahadad, Kamalbian refugee admitted to the nation in 2001. He received a very large sum of money from Kamalbia in 2014, which he filed as heritage and which he used to buy the plot. Our intel team just did some deep digging on the guy and it turns out that his entire family was killed during a botched op of ours in Kamalbia in '92. A pair of A-10's were called in to conduct an evening raid on a convoy of a local warlord, but instead bombed the wedding procession by mistake."

"At least he has a motive" Higgins said as the helicopter once again made a hard turn.

"Exactly. Just after the attack had commenced, a lot of communications were intercepted between this cabin and one of the freighters at Spiritwood. This leads us to believe that the cabin acts as a safehouse or tactical command post for the attack. It is possible that the occupants of the cabin conducted reconnaissance to identify key targets during the attack. It is therefore likely that you'll find some solid leads in the cabin about who organised this and why."
"Alright. Get in, secure the cabin and gather as much intel as possible. Rules of Engagement?"
"Try to capture some of the occupants alive if possible. They are however expendable."
"Solid copy."

Two minutes later, the Little Bird swooped in over an open field, low enough that Higgins was sure he could snatch a flower from the ground while not leaving the helicopter. That's what you get for flying with the 2nd Special Operations Aviation Regiment.

"Touchdown in five... four... three... two... one... GO GO GO"
The skids of the helicopter barely touched the ground before the SWOB team was off, the pilot already pulling on the throttle, making the helicopter rise again.

"Let's go people! Three, get the drone up!" Higgins called to Andrade, which zipped open his assault pack and produced a quick-assembly miniature drone. By the time the rest of the team had reached the treeline, the drone was already assembled, powered up and lifting off.

While the drone gained altitude and moved ahead, on orders by Andrade's control unit, the team moved towards the cabin.

Not long after, the drone started providing them with the first images of the cabin. It was a pretty standard cabin, obviously not build for luxury. A SUV was parked outside, the trunk and doors open.

"Looks like they are getting ready to leave" Torrey said as he saw the drone's images on his screen.
"Then let's make sure they don't" Higgins said, ordering the team forward again.

The team took up positions on the edge of the opening around the cabin, facing the front porch. It was clear the men that were busy inside the cabin were readying themselves to leave in a hurry, considering they ran around tossing stuff in the back of the SUV.

The problem was, the four of them were all armed with AKs. No way to get a clean capture out of that, as long as the odds were "even" (in the mind of the terrorists that is).

When one of the terrorists went inside again while the others remained outside, Higgins gave the order for the other three to be dropped and then storm the house to overwhelm the fourth. The trio outside went down clean, dead before they hit the ground, as the team came storming up to the porch.

Torrey was the first through the door.
"DROP IT!" he shouted as he kept his rifle aimed at the terrorist, who was just entering the hallway. But instead of dropping it, the terrorist, taken aback by the sudden appearance of Torrey, tried to bring up his rifle. Torrey's reply to that action was swift and deadly, as three bullets tore through the chest of the terrorist.

"So much for prisoners" Torrey said as Higgins entered the hallway.
"Alright. Let's get to work. Search each room. I want images, hard drives, laptops, whatever and I want it yesterday.

"Boss!" Andrade called from another room, "I have detcord here. I think these frakkers were rigging this place to blow."
"Okay, on top of all that, you have exactly one minute to gather the intel before we leave this party" Higgins amended his order.

The team went to work quickly. The cabin wasn't that large and the living room was a goldmine to begin with. PCs set up, laptops lying around, pictures pinned to the wall.
"Yank the drives, take the laptops, we got forty seconds!" Higgins said, as he himself started grabbing at the pictures on the wall.

"Boss, wait a second" Torrey said, as he looked at the images Higgins was pulling down, "This picture... It's a screenshot from a website."
"Bag it! We'll sort it out later. Thirty seconds!" Higgins said, as he continued pulling papers into his assault pack.
"No boss! I mean... it's a nuclear simulation program. You can "simulate" a nuclear detonation using open source mapping. They simulated one on Spiritwood. And it's the last image in line."
"You're telling me... AH FRAK ME" Higgins cursed, "Grab what you can, we're moving, NOW!"

Higgins slung his backpack over his shoulder, motioning his team to move out. Andrande held two laptops under his arms, with Aguilera carrying an entire PC which he didn't have enough time to yank the hard drive from.

They jumped down the flight of stairs from the porch and kept running out into the woods. Higgins reached for his earpiece.
"COMMAND, GHOST LEAD" he shouted, "POSSIBLE NUCLEAR WEAPON IN PLAY IN SPIRITWOOD"

At that instant, the cabin behind the team exploded in a gasoline fuelled explosion, burning down whatever the team hadn't been able to secure. As a response, the team dropped to the ground as flames consumed everything around.

"COMMAND, HOW COPY?!" Higgins shouted again as he looked at the collapsing structure of the cabin.
"Ghost Lead, Command. We just received reports of a nuclear detonation in Spiritwood. I'll get back to you."

"Frak."

Operations Room,
Hill House (Presidential residence/office),
GHawkins City
At the same time.

Deep underneath the Hill House, the GHawkins presidential residence, the president's personal command centre had been constructed during the Cold War of the previous century. In case of a massive nuclear attack originating from the Empire of the Exponent, the head of state was able to seek refuge in a bunker close to home, so that a continuity of government could be maintained.

As the Empire collapsed and the risk of all out nuclear war decreased, it was redesigned to also be used as a command centre for other contingencies, not necessarily related to ensuring a continuity of government.

It was for this reason that President Howard had decided to go down to the bunker when word reached him of the attack on Spiritwood. Though initially minor, it quickly grew into a massive assault against a GHawkins city. As Commander-In-Chief, it was President Howard that authorised the use of GHawkins military forces on its own soil, which subsequently lead to the deployment of such units.

He and his staff were able to follow the situation via several big wall-mounted screens, displaying news broadcasts, UAV footage and BattleNet Data. Much of the morning was spent by the President fighting his many phone lines to ensure proper support was send towards Spiritwood.

Throwing the phone on the horn after his millionth call that morning, he took a big gulp from his "#1 PRESIDENT" mug, a gift from his children which now contained cold coffee. It was the third cup of coffee he had allowed to go cold this morning.

"Godsdamnit" he said as he reluctantly swallowed the cold liquid, "Can someone in here brew me a good warm cup of coffee?"
"Every cup of coffee you got this morning was warm mister President, you just let them go cold" Secretary of Defence Jackson said from the other side of the table, not even looking up from his laptop.
"Didn't ask for your opinion Jackson" Howard said as an aide took care of refilling his cup. Howard turned his attention to the footage one of the UAVs now circling over Spiritwood sent back to them. The many smoke columns from the city were clearly visible.

"This is a mess..." he just muttered as he had his eyes glued to the screen, "Heads are going to roll because someone dropped the ball on this one. We don't even frakking know who these guys are but they are tearing down a godsdamn city!"
"We have reasonable cause to suspect it's the doing of the Astyrian Liberation Army, one of the combatants our forces killed was linked to them by the GSA" Jackson said, looking up from his laptop as he himself took a sip.
"You are telling me..." Howard said, as he pushed himself up from his seat, "That this..."

He walked over to the screen displaying the UAV footage, stabbing at the images with his right index finger.
"You are telling me that this is the work of a bunch of rag-head-camel-riding-skinny-frakking-retards? They might be the big boys on the block in their own shit-hole of a country, but I don't recall reading any intel reports that they were able to actually attack another nation in a military fashion. Let alone >US<."
It was clear Howard was getting very much agitated at the idea that a terrorist organisation had been able to plan and execute a surprise attack on his country, one he loved dearly. But as if the gods wanted to add insult to the injury, the screen he had been stabbing at flashed white and turned to static.
"Now what the frak happened to my screen?" Howard snapped as he noticed it.

SECDEF Jackson let out a chuckle, resulting in a death stare from Howard.
"Galen..." Jackson started, the stare intensifying which made Jackson reconsider his words, "Okay... Mister President... I understand your anger, completely. I'm boiling inside as well at this cowardly attack on our own people, civilians nonetheless. But you're going to get a hard attack if you don't sit down right now. Take a deep breath, sit down and take a sip from that coffee while it's still hot."

Howard let his shoulders drop, taking a deep breath as he walked over to the chair he previously occupied, sighing.

"You need to keep your head in the game. We're already pushing them back now, it's only a matter of time now until we're back in control of the situation. You need to think about what you're going to tell the nation."
"Yeah yeah... I know."

"Mister President!"
The door to the situation room burst open, as two Secret Service agents rushed inside, followed by an army colonel, who in turn was followed by an air force major.
"Mister President, there has been a development. A nuclear device in the kiloton range was just detonated in Spiritwood. DSP confirms it, as do preliminary reports from the ground. The device appears to have been detonated in the centre of the island, current extent of the damage or casualties unknown."

For a moment, President Howard was dumbstruck.
"Colonel, please tell me you are making a joke" Howard managed to get out of his throat, staring at the colonel who had just delivered the news.
"Negative sir, I am afraid not. Mister President, I need you to come with me to the control room and authenticate your identity."

Still dumbstruck, Howard got herded to the control room along with Jackson. Here, Howard put in his authorisation codes for the GHawkins' nuclear weapons, in case retaliation to further nuclear attack was required, with Jackson completing the authentication. Following that, Howard began to issue order after order.

All military leaves were cancelled, effective immediately. Law Enforcement, assisted by Military Police, would secure all sites of importance throughout the country, including landmarks.

Although the a no-fly-zone for civil aviation was already in place around Spiritwood at the time of the attack, this was now expanded to include the entire nation. All civilian aircraft were to immediately seek the nearest airport able to sustain their aircraft and land. The only aircraft allowed in the skies over the Republic would be military, law enforcement and emergency services.

The GHawkins Navy was ordered to quarantine the Republic by ordering all ships heading for port, regardless of the flag they were flying, to turn around or hold their positions and not approach the mainland. Any ships disregarding this order would be boarded by navy or marine personnel. Though not prominently mentioned in the media later on, the GHawkins Navy was authorised to use lethal force in ensuring its blockade held, including the sinking of ships if boarding wasn't an option or armed resistance was encountered.

Once all those orders had been given, the President retired back to the conference room to make calls with the other leaders of Astyria, who were undoubtedly aware of what had just happened.

[Trellin]

Palace of Tor'qim, Mar'theqa
Trellin

The Palace of Tor'qim is one of the most architecturally impressive structures in Mar'theqa. Its foundations were laid, as the name suggests, by King Tor'qim the Builder, but the royal residences were not completed until almost a century had elapsed. Though perhaps not Astyria's largest palace complex, it is among the most lavishly adorned buildings in the empire, and its interior furnishings have stolen the breath of many guests. Much of the finery is crafted from solid gold, and the furniture is carved out of wood imported from as close as the Hyseran jungle and as far afield as the Rombergian taiga. The guided tours rarely stray from the ostentatious ground floor, where centuries of Astyrian royalty were regularly wowed, and the royal family tends to remain in the upper storeys.

Many of the chambers upstairs are just as sumptuous as those below, and some even more so. Others, however, betray the influence of the modern era, the high-backed chairs replaced with beanbags or soft couches, electric lighting replacing the bejewelled chandeliers overhead, and sockets hooking the palace up to the comforts of a more technological age. In one such room, once the preferred living room of the young princes and princess, a now older (and now empress) Azara sat, slouched, enjoying the first late and lazy morning she'd taken in weeks. Usually, when she wasn't being a head of state, she was avoiding her mother, who at any rate preferred the extravagance other parts of the palace had to offer. The marquesses of Azmir had never had the same wealth the Trellinese monarchy held, after all. For Azara's part, she was content to channel surf, a bowl of cereal quietly fizzing in its milk. She spent a few minutes yawning at a cartoon before picking up the remote again and flicking past golf, soaps, telemarketers (the greatest drawback to Trellin's reintegration) and channel after channel of hair product ad.

Footsteps down the hallway alerted Azara to her mother's approach, and she inwardly grumbled. There was no point fleeing, as any sudden movement would disturb the festering cereal, and it was too late anyway. The door opened and an unwelcome head peeked in.

"Ah, there you are," spoke the head, followed immediately by the rest of the body of Iressa of Azmir. "Zara, dear, take a look at TBC." She hovered a moment before Azara sighed and lifted the remote again, preparing to switch over to the main Trellinese news channel. Satisfied, her mother left.

Azara hesitated a moment, torn between going back to her idle search for interest or seeing what was so important on the news. She took a spoonful of cereal. News is only new once, she decided, and turned on TBC to be confronted with an airborne cameraman's view of pillars of smoke rising from a once-thriving GHawkinian metropolis. The Trellinese news anchor was narrating the events that had unfolded minutes ago, and just minutes after this (apparently not live) shot.

"Huh," Azara enunciated between chews, and switched channels.

---

From: Her Imperial Majesty Queen Azara V Date: You / Tell / Me To: The people and government of the Republic of GHawkins It was with unrestrained sorrow that I learned of the heinous attacks committed against the good people of GHawkins on this day. I extend the most sincere condolences at what must be a time of great sadness and pain for your country, as indeed we here in Trellin are aghast at this wanton taking of lives. Words can never express such raw emotion as you feel now, yet I urge you to stand strong and stand united in the face of such terrorism. We stand in sympathy and solidarity with you today, certain that the principles upon which GHawkins was founded must be upheld against this barbarous action. While we hope with great conviction that the perpetrators of this attack will be found and brought to justice, the Sidereal Crown knows all too well the tragedy that so often follows vengeance, and - inappropriate though it may now seem - urge the leadership of GHawkins to exercise caution and restraint in the times ahead. May the grace of God, Thaera and whatever deities you hold dearest protect your entire people. For those whose lives have been taken away, we pray that they may be granted eternal rest, and hope that perpetual light may shine upon them as they rest in peace. Amen. Her Majesty Emperor Azara V Tiraiya Sasanië Palægos of the Most Ancient Sidereal Crown, Queen of Trellin, Queen of the Isles of Velar, Empress of Hysera, Defender of the Ethlorek faith, Protector of Arimathea, Txekrikar, Kur'zhet and Cadenza, Princess of Morikz, Ka'alkë, Ludef, Tar Pegalim and Txakla, Lady of Khatax and Ternos, Guardian of the Straits of Jajich, Lady Holder of the Trophy Ports Durats, Khorvu, Mintra, Rha'gutza and Vacoas, Duchess of Zynaxa and Marquise of Khem, Tidros and Kethros.

[Aswick]

Aswickan southern border

One fireteam of unfortunate soldiers had drawn the short straws and were on patrol. Ever since the end of the Second Regional war, at least one the eight Aswickan Army regiments had been posted along the border. This was due to the hostile relations between Aswick and its breakaway provinces that called themselves the "Darian Republic" these days. Of course, Aswick didn't recognize this so-called Republic. As far as the government was concerned, they were nothing more than a couple of provinces that thought they'd strike out on their own. Of course, the King respected them for that. After all, Aswick had done the same some during the first regional war.

For the average soldier, though, none of this really mattered. They were here to keep the border safe, and it usually wasn't a bad posting at all. There was a shopping centre nearby, which contained amenities like two cinemas, a pool and several other places to kick back and relax. If that wasn't enough, the city of Noribirit wasn't all that far away and therefore entertained a lot of soldiers on leave.

The team was walking their assigned route. It had snowed the night before, and the river that formed a natural border had been frozen over. The patrol was careful to stay on the Aswickan side of the river, for fear of getting shot by the very active enemy patrols. Today was all quiet, though. No doubt they were all huddled up in the warmth of their barracks, not being willing to face the cold today. Just as the patrol was about to make the turn towards their own warm barracks, the Lance-Corporal leading the patrol halted and took a knee.

"Movement on the other side, fellas. Might be hostiles, but it might be just the wind." the Lance-Corporal said -almost whispered- to his lads. The patrol quickly got out of the open, the snow crunching under their feet. Before they could get to cover, though, a BMP started its engine and came out of concealment before firing at the four soldiers. They fired a few shots in response before they went down.



Royal Palace, Havenport

An emergency meeting between the senior military commanders and the King took place that same day, only a mere three hours after the incident. The King had been a little later than he had wanted, but entered the room well in advance of the officers. He had been in the service himself, as a Naval aviator during the previous flare with their neighbours -the last real combat action Aswick had been in-. He remembered it all like it was yesterday. It was hard to believe that it had happened over 5 years ago now already. He'd still be serving, actually, if it hadn't been for the accident that killed his father and his older brother. The King's thoughts were interrupted abruptly when the Corporal standing guard outside opened the door to announce that the first of the officers were arriving.

King William stood up to receive them. He shook each man's hand as they entered, after which everyone quickly sat down in their assigned seat. After a servant made sure everyone had a cup of coffee or tea, the King stood up and leaned on the table. "General Shepherd. You called this emergency meeting. Why." he asked. He had a general understanding, of course, but he needed all the details.

The General looked up at the King and spoke. "This morning, at zero-seven-thirty to the dot, the defences at Fort Griffith reported gunfire and explosions coming from the border. According to Major Jennings, a four-man patrol was in that area when it went down. Following that, he sent out one of his Companies to investigate. They found shell casings and impact craters created by a Darian BMP. They also found our lads. Three dead, with Lance Corporal Larrick wounded. They took him back to Fort Griffith, and he was then flown to the medical facilities at RAF Highpeake. As I have received no further word yet, I must assume that he is still in surgery. From what I've been told, sir, if he makes it through the surgery, he'll be lucky to make it past the night."

King William nodded. He knew that the doctors would do everything in their power to save this young man. He'd have to make sure to give the lad a medal when the time came. He snapped out of this train of thoughts. "Very well. I want to mobilize. I think we all remember the last time this happened, and we didn't mobilize. This time, I don't want Aswick to be caught with its trousers down. I trust you will all see to it. Unless there was anything else?" the King said.

"Ehm, sir? There is another thing." Admiral Bakersfield, the commander of the Navy, said. The King looked at him and nodded, letting the man know to continue. "Sir, as you know, a nuclear explosion was registered on the GHawkins west coast. As of yet, I have no further details other than what everyone in this room already knows. I must apologize for this lack of information, Sir." the Admiral said. Everything the Aswickan intelligence community knew had already been delivered to his desk earlier this morning. The men had nothing else to discuss, so the King dismissed them, and then went to his office. A communique expressing the King's condolences, and an assurance that Aswick would try to provide help where needed in the coming times had already been prepared, and was ready to be sent the moment the King approved it. Less than ten minutes after reading it, it was on its way to GHawkins.

[Trellin]

[OOC: Yet another (short) retrospective, since it's high time I put my IIwiki canon down as actual roleplay. Not related to any ongoing plot arcs.]

---

King Mahrim II looked out on a great crowd from his balcony in the Palace of Tor'qim. It had been many years since there had been such a gathering on the steps of the palace: royal proclamations seemed a thing of the past, and public statements such as this were usually reserved for television, radio or the printed media. Perhaps it was the novelty of the thing that drew such numbers to hear Mahrim speak, an event that had been only a memory for the parents and grandparents of the current generation.

Or perhaps it was a sense of relief that brought them here, together; a sense of unity, all the Trellinese people and all the peoples of the empire rejoicing at the end of a trying phase in their national history. It was eleven o'clock in the morning, on November the eighteenth, two thousand and fourteen, and the War had just ended.

The War of the Eastern Velar, the press were calling it, Trellin's first war, first diplomatic incident - in fact, very nearly its first diplomacy - in seventy five years, had not been kind to the Sidereal Crown. Over a thousand dead, almost ten times that wounded; whatever could be said of the gains - and they were, truly, great gains - Trellin had also lost heavily. The man wearing its crown had not come away unscathed either. He had aged quickly in those two months, but when he stood on that balcony he felt as a man reborn, and his people could see a great weight lift from his shoulders as he announced Andamonia's unconditional surrender and the beginning of an armistice. The worst was behind them, and behind him.

Or so he thought.

A restaurant, Mar'theqa, Trellin
22 May 2015

"Mahrim, please. I know that look. What's done is done." The sympathetic scolding of his wife brought Mahrim back to the present. It was now many months later than those events, but always he felt his mind wandering back to that traumatic episode. Try as he might, he could not fully shake the sense of responsibility for everything that had happened.

"I'm sorry, I can't help it. You know how it haunts me." He looked sheepishly across the table, his hands still holding cutlery and hovering over his lamb cutlet and potatoes. He moved his fork to pick up a chunk of lamb he must have cut off before his reverie, and lifted the piece towards is mouth. Distracted, he hit his chin first and had to focus on putting it into his mouth. If only he'd fully considered the implications of coming out of isolation, this would never have happened. In fact, no, he should have done it sooner.

"Dear, please." Iressa sighed at her spouse, speared a piece of broccoli and looked suddenly more closely at him. "Dear? Are you alright?"

Mahrim looked puzzled, or tried to, but with his mouth full of food he found facial expressions slower to come. "Wha d'ou mean?" Nor was he in the mood to be interrogated on his well-being.

"Your face, it's... oh, God," she gasped, standing up quickly and almost knocking her chair over.

"I dohn think thalamb scooked right," he began, as heads all around the restaurant turned in their direction.

"Someone call an ambulance," Iressa cried, "quickly!"

---

A four month-old deAlaya Pandion X13, imported, took every other car on the Deleras Bypass without a second thought, cruising past them in the furthest right southbound lane at a serene 140 kilometres per hour. Police knew better than to pursue the car, which in their systems was registered to one Azara T.S. Palægos. The twenty six-year old Princess of Zarthalin enjoyed the freedom of the open road, when it wasn't backed up all the way to Tanzigar, and even more so the freedom of her beach house in Idisamo, far away from her controlling mother. A weekend on the golden Velaran sands would help her put palace life far from her mind.

The last thing she wanted was for her radio to decrescendo abruptly, making way for an incoming phone call, and when the phone number appeared on her dash Azara very nearly growled at it. She picked up, albeit only with reluctance.

"Iressa," she spoke to the phone through gritted teeth.

"Zara, it's your mother," the disembodied voice replied. They both knew Azara knew; her mother was having none of her impudence. That didn't mean she wasn't going to continue to give it.

"I would never have guessed," Azara replied, her foot pushing at the accelerator ever so slightly more.

Her mother's distinctive long-suffering sigh worked its way through the car's sound system before she spoke. "Please, Azara, could you for one moment respect your mother? I didn't call you to hear your snark." Then why did you call? Azara thought, but she didn't have to wait to find out. "I want you to come home. It's your father. He's in the hospital. He had a stroke."

Minutes later, a deAlaya Pandion X13 overtook every car northbound on the Deleras Bypass, and the police didn't bother to pursue.

[Aswick]

Suburbs of New Atlium

In a house in the suburbs of New Atlium, a man had just come home from work. He was a Senior Police Constable with the Royal Constabulary -the Aswickan Police force-. He had had a long shift, and was ready for a beer and some television until his wife came home and make dinner. He still wasn't quite used to the alternating system they now had, and was tempted to make dinner himself. In the end, he decided against it, and with a cold beer in his hand he sat down in his chair facing directly at the brand new television. He set his beer down on the coffee table -forgetting to put a coaster under it, as always- in order to search for the remote. No doubt his son had forgotten to put it back on the table after turning off the television before heading to school.

After a minute of going through the crevices of the couch, he found it. As he sat down again he switched on the television and started zapping the channels. First it switched to a cooking channel. Kenneth quickly moved on to the next channel. He knew that if he watched a cooking channel he'd get hungry. The next channel was one for children. Presently it was showing a show called "Mystery Lake", which was a cartoon about a couple of kids on a summer camp of sorts, who had all kinds of shenanigans during the seemingly never-ending summer. Kenneth had watched a couple of episode with his boy a couple of weeks ago, though he'd only been half awake for it. He pressed the button on the remote again, and the television jumped to a documentary about the Aswickan troops in the Second Regional War. Kenneth's grandfather had been wounded during that war, like so many other men.

The Constable watched this documentary for a while, until he heard the doorbell. It wasn't his wife coming home. She had a key. And even so, she normally came in through the back door. He also didn't think it was his son. He'd be staying with his best mate tonight. And like his wife, Kenneth's son wouldn't ring the doorbell and would just go through the garden. Aw hell. Kenneth thought as he laid the remote on the table and stood up. He opened the door to the hallway, and before he opened the front door he straightened his clothes.

A couple of moments later he opened the door. He saw two men dressed in the olive-drab barracks uniform of the Royal Aswickan Army standing in front of him. He took a quick look at their rank insignia and unit patch and recognized them as a Corporal and a Rifleman of the Headquarters Company of the Royal Greenjackets. His own Regiment. "Captain Kenneth Davis? Of the Third Battalion, the The Prince's Own Fusiliers?" the Sergeant asked. He already knew the answer of course. He wouldn't be here otherwise.

"Yes, Sergeant. I am he." Kenneth replied. His day job was that of a Constable. However, he was also a Captain in the Reserve Regiment, the Royal Regiment of Fusiliers. The Sergeant replied almost immediately. "Sir, the Regiment has been activated per the general mobilization issued earlier today. Also as per the orders, you are given 24 hours to get your affairs in order before you are to report at Fort Oliver." the Sergeant said. Kenneth would have to notify the Chief Superintendent that he'd been activated. They wouldn't mind down at the station, of course. Hell, that was part of the reason he'd joined the Constabulary after he transferred to the Greenjackets following his service requirement.

"Thank you, Sergeant" Kenneth said. The Sergeant and the Rifleman saluted, and after Kenneth returned it they turned around and walked down the path in the front garden to their Land Rover. Kenneth closed the door went back to the living room. On his way towards the stairs he turned off the television. He'd have to dig up his uniforms then. He could never remember where his wife would put them after she washed them following an exercise. Most likely they'd be in his bergen, somewhere in the attic. The only uniform he knew he could find without his wife helping him was his dress uniform. That one was hanging in the closet. And its accompanying sword would be on the shelve way out of his son's reach. Kenneth had a feeling he wouldn't be needing his dress uniform, though. The last time there was a General Mobilization was back when he was still in the Royal Dragoons, and that was when the war with their breakaway provinces flared up again. He'd been a Lieutenant back then, though he had been wounded quite early in the conflict, and spent most of that period in hospital.



Fort Griffith, near the Aswickan border [two days later]

"Sirs, we should retaliate!" cried a Captain. He was the Officer Commanding of 3Coy, 3rd Battalion, the Coldstream Guards. The men that had recently been killed had belonged. No, they still belonged.To his Company. He wanted payback at least as much as his lads wanted payback. Having been a Corporal before he attended the Academy, he was closer to his men than most of his brother officers. Even though the Aswickan Army had never frowned upon being close to one's subordinates, some of Hopper's superiors didn't quite like exactly how familiar Hopper was with his men.

The incident that had occurred only a few days ago was one of pure hostile intent from the rebels' side. They had suddenly and deliberately fired upon Aswickan soldiers, who had done nothing to provoke such an attack. A murmur of voices agreeing with the Captain swept through the room before the senior officer present, Brigadier MacPherson motioned for silence. "I cannot agree with you more, Captain Hopper. Like many of you, I want that rebel scum to feel the consequences of their actions. However, I feel that I should presently take the role of devil's advocate. We have no idea what a counter strike will do. For all we know, we'll provoke a war-" the Brigadier said.

He was interrupted by a Lieutenant. "With all due respect, Sir. But, they provoked a war the moment they fired upon our boys!" the Lieutenant said in a harsh tone. He, like most of the other officers present, shared the sentiment for retaliation. He'd been known as something of a pacifist, and many soldiers questioned why he had joined the Army in the first place. This recent incident did away with all that, however. Again followed a murmur of agreement.

The Brigadier continued. "As I was saying. We have no idea what a retaliatory strike will cause. At best, they accept this. Which is unlikely to say the least. At worst we will be fighting a bloody war again. We could all get censured, or even be court-martialed." the Brigadier said, pausing to take a sip from the still almost full glass of water standing on the table in front of him. "That's a risk myself, most of my brother officers, and almost all of our men are willing to take, Sir." said another Lieutenant. A fresh Second Lieutenant who had just graduated from the Academy.

Major Jennings, the commander of the Battalion, hadn't said a word the entire conversation, other than the usual formalities. It was time he spoke up. "I respect the Brigadier's position. However, I must agree with my men on this. The enemy needs to understand that they can't get away with pulling a stunt like this. If we ignore it, what will stop them from doing it again? And again? And again? For that reason, I have already had contact with General Shepherd who, in turn, has had contact with His Majesty the King. They have authorized a small expedition over the border. Now, I will only send out volunteers. I want you all to tell your men that I will consider anyone that volunteers. I will select an officer to lead them from among the officer volunteers. It is now eleven-hundred hours. Applications will be closed at twenty-one-hundred hours." the Major said. Then he looked at the Brigadier. "Permission to end the meeting, Sir?" he asked. The Brigadier nodded, and stood up. "Gentlemen, you are dismissed. Major, my office if you please."

The officers stood up, saluted, and left the meeting room. Major Jennings followed the Brigadier to his office, and proceeded to lay out the plan he had made for the strike.


Aswickan border, a couple of hours later (0259)

Captain Saltzman had been selected to lead the retaliatory strike. He was glad he had been chosen for this opportunity. It might mean the end of his career, but quite frankly he didn't care about that presently. The plan, laid out by the Major a couple of hours was simple. He and his volunteers were to cross the border in force. They were then to attack the watchtower closest to their position, and to lower the unrecognized flag. Then they'd raise the Aswickan flag, mine the area and leave reports about the next of kin of those who died in the tower before withdrawing to the safety of the Aswickan lines.

Normally the Officer Commanding of 2 Coy, 3Bat, the Coldstream Guards, for this mission Captain Saltzman was now commanding a unit consisting of three sections. Each fireteam had received one AT-4 anti-tank weapon to make sure they could engage enemy armour if they had to. This meant that the Captain had six AT4's. Among the men, there was the Regimental Colour Sergeant who had been flown over especially for this mission. He would be carrying the Aswickan flag, and together with the Captain, he would raise it.

The group was waiting just on the treeline. Everyone was wearing the snow-pattern camouflage not usually worn. The Captain moved along the lines to make sure everyone was ready to go, the snow softly crunching under his feet as he did so. At exactly 0300, his radio crackled in his ear. This was the signal from the Major that it was go-time. The Captain patted his 2IC on his back, and the Colour Sergeant nodded in response. With a couple of hand signals, within a couple of seconds the rest knew this as well.

Saltzman led the boys out the treeline, staying low to the ground but keeping his rifle up. The Captain was the first to cross the border, but as of yet there was no response from those supposed to be on the other side. This struck the Captain as somewhat odd. Surely they must have expected a response? It wouldn't help to dwell on it now. Slowly creeping over the ice, the 25 men were on-track. They had just reached the treeline when suddenly all hell broke loose.

Mortar shells started landing behind them, while small arms fire came from ahead. All it seemed to be was a late reaction to the sight of a couple of soldiers over the border. Saltzman and his men kept their heads down, and after 5 minutes everything went quiet again. They'd have to move fast now. No doubt there would be a patrol coming soon.

The way these rebels had set themselves up was quite ingenious, really. Shortly off the river bank was a short patch of short trees. The watchtowers could easily watch over them. From the Aswickan side, little could be seen past those trees, though, and intelligence had therefore always relied on aerial reconnaissance. Not that the average soldier often saw these, of course. Generally their job was to stay on their side of the river, and to make sure that the enemy did not cross it.

The group kicked the pace up a notch. Within minutes, they reached the perimeter of their intended target, and at this point Captain Saltzman halted. He clicked the radio transmitter twice, in order to let the Major know that they had reached their waypoint. He would now watch them for a couple of minutes, and then he'd give the signal to attack.

And that's how it went. For five minutes, the Captain watched the movements of the rebel soldiers. Of course, five minutes doesn't tell you much about a routine of any kind, it wasn't intended as such. It was merely to find out how many people were there, and the answer surprised the Captain. There were only six of them. Maybe he could capture them? His orders said nothing of how he had to accomplish his mission. Hell, he wasn't even sure there were actual orders. The Government needed deniability in case it all went to shits, he imagined.

Saltzman decided upon a course. He would try and make them surrender. If they did decide to resist, however, his boys would not hesitate to kill them all. The Captain crept a little closer and took a knee. "Surrender, mates! I've got a full platoon eager to avenge their dead mates!" the Captain shouted at the six soldiers in and around the tower. He could see them scrambling about, and a minute later, they threw down their weapons. "Fine! Please don't kill us!" shouted one of them.

Well, that was easy, the Captain thought. He told his boys to move in and within a minute they were standing in the clearing. A couple of lads picked up the weapons, while soldiers from another section bound the captives with zipties. Meanwhile, the Colour Sergeant ran down the flag, and put it away in his pack. Then he took out the Aswickan flag and raised it on the now empty flagpole. At the same time, the third section mined the perimeter with claymores.

Ten minutes later, they were all back over the border, without incident. Four of the enemy soldiers had requested asylum, and not knowing what else to do with them, Saltzman brought them with him. At the least, they could be used to in a prisoner trade should Aswickan soldiers be captured at a later date. Another fifteen minutes later they were back home. The Captain would get a commendation for his conduct at a later time, though this being something classified he couldn't wear it in public, of course.



The city of Daria, the Darian Republic

Lieutenant Jasper Merlyn was a second generation illegal. His parents had been 'illegals' placed by the Aswickan Military Intelligence, Section B some thirty years ago. While the first generation had been highly successful, they couldn’t pass the scrutiny of background checks to join the military or any of the government services.

The second generation could, however, and as such Jasper joined the Military after his parents had brought him into the fold. He was born here, had been raised here, and could pass the security. He did not consider himself to be Darian, however. He was Aswickan, and one day -hopefully while he was still young- the countries would be reunited.

Currently, the Lieutenant was serving as Aide-de-Camp to General Fitzgerald, the head of the Darian Military. This earned him a brevet promotion to Major, even though the Darian Army no longer had the practice of brevet promotions.

His current position gave him easy access to classified information, parts of which he sent to ‘the centre’ -the name the illegals used for the Aswickan Military Intelligence. He couldn’t send everything of course, even though he wanted to. He’d blow his cover if he did.

Jasper was quietly sitting in the office he had been assigned when he became the General’s Aide-de-Camp. It wasn’t a big one, but it adjoined the General’s, and it served its purpose well enough. After all, he had to be close to the General while he was on duty, but he also needed his own place to do his work.

Presently a report came in. He found himself grinning as he read it. The Aswickan Army had crossed the border, and raised their flag over one of the Darian watchtowers. They had also… Taken four men prisoner? Nice going, the Lieutenant thought. It also seemed that the recovery party had taken casualties. It seemed that his brothers had mined the place.

He’d be sure to send a congratulation next time he contacted the centre. For now, though, he’d have to go through another couple of reports, and make sure they were on the General’s desk before he went home for the night.

[Blackhelm Confederacy]

President Howard walked into the conference room he had left no longer than 10 minutes ago, though he felt double that amount of years older. He allowed himself to fall into the chair he had occupied prior to being herded out by the colonel, taking a deep breath as he did.

He was able to burst into tears right there, right then. For the first time since being elected into office, no, for the first time since starting his political career, back when he was 25, he felt truly lost.

He took a minute to collect himself. He reminded himself that he was human, that it was natural to feel what he was now feeling, especially for a man in his position. But he was still the leader of his nation, a nation that needed him to keep a cool head. He knew that soon, the phone which was staring at him from on top of the table would ring. He needed to keep his cool.

After another deep breath, that very same phone rang. He looked at it a moment, before reaching over and taking the horn off the hook.

“Howard” he said into the horn.
A female voice replied.
“Mister President, I have Chancellor Eaglebrand on hold for you.”

Oh yeah, I’m still in speedail, Howard thought.
“Put him through please.”

A click later, the two leaders were connected.
“Howard.”

“Galen” the Chancellor spoke into the phone. “By God, what has happened there? I pray that you and your family have come through this situation unscathed. Is my intelligence correct in their claims that there was a nuclear detonation in Spiritwood?”

“I am afraid your intelligence is correct on that Octavius. Estimates are in the six to eight kiloton range, surface burst. You shouldn’t pray for me however, pray for those in Spiritwood.”

Octavius breathed deeply, momentarily stunned by the news. “That is true, but today I feel is a day to pray for all the people of Ghawkins. Do we have any idea who might be behind this?”

“My intel people tell me that they are almost a hundred percent certain that the attack was orchestrated by the Astyrian Liberation Army. Before the nuclear… event… a massive attack was already underway. Several of these attackers were identified as having affiliations to terrorist cells operating for the ALA, but none inside the Republic. We are however in the dark how they acquired a battlefield nuclear device, because the yield indicates that’s what it is.”

“That was my next question….the Astyrian Liberation Army? They are the same people responsible for the attack in Paritte as well no?” The Chancellor stroked his short beard for a moment, pondering the thought before continuing. “Well, President Howard, you have the full support of the Confederate Senate and People in dealing with this so-called army. Any individuals we come into contact with will be handed over to your people forthright. I will also direct the CIS to share whatever information we have on this group with your own intelligence community. We need to make a statement, here and now, that rogue agencies can not be allowed to assault civilians in the civilized world. And much more so, we need to make the statement that the detonation of nuclear weapons, regardless of reason, will be dealt with as swiftly and harshly as possible. We are with you, Galen. All of the EATA stands by your side.”

“They are indeed the same people responsible for the attack on a civilian target in Paritte as well. Although we have taken measures in an attempt to disrupt their operations, it goes to show that it hasn’t been enough. But right now, I need to make sure the people of my nation know that I am there for them and that we will get through this. I hope you understand that for the foreseeable future, the GHawkins military will be on high alert?”

“Of course, that would be the sensible move to take. Be with your people, Galen. I will not hold you from them any longer. I wish the best for you and for Ghawkins, my God be with you.”

“Thank you. May the gods be with you too.” **

Octavius hung the phone up and took a deep breath. "May the gods be with you?" he thought for a moment. He almost forgot his counterpart across the region was a heathen but he shook his mind back into place and pressed a button on his desk, connecting him with his secretary. "Prepare an emergency session of the Senate...I will need to address the nation shortly"

---

Two hours later, the Chancellor once more would appear on the television screens and radio waves of over two billion people in the Confederacy, and likely many more throughout Hesperidesia. He sat at his desk, as he always did, his suit cleanly pressed and the Confederate flag hung neatly in the corner of the screen.

My fellow Confederates

Today, the nation of Ghawkins came under attack in a series of deliberate and deadly terrorist acts, attacks which culminated in the detonation of a nuclear device within the city of Spiritwood. The victims were not military personnel, but ordinary people, men and women, young boys and young girls. Reports are still coming in, but as it is now, thousands of lives were suddenly ended by evil, despicable acts perpetrated upon an innocent population by a cowardly attacker. Even now, smoke continues to rise and bodies are still being pulled from the rubble of the once great city across the region. These attacks were intended to frighten the entire region, to show us all that the group responsible, a group calling itself the Astyrian Liberation Army, is capable of striking anywere and with great devastation. They intended to frighten the region into giving into their aims. They were wrong.

Today, a multi-national response has come about across the region, as nations once enemies come together as brother and sister states, and those already in good relations find themselves growing even closer. These terrorists may destroy cities and shatter lives, but they will never destroy the foundations that make Astyria great. Ghawkins was targetted because of its attempt to bring law and order to the nation of Kamalbia over twenty years ago, keeping in line with an Astyrian tradition of bringing light to even the darkest of lands, and maintaining order where there is chaos. For this, they have been attacked. Today, we will respond, and we will ensure that everyone, the world over, sees that Astyria will not tolerate this kind of lawlessness, and that the goal of continuing a cycle of chaos in Kamalbia has only back fired, and now more than ever the nations of both Eastern and Western Astyria are steeling themselves, and preparing to bring about a permanent piece in that often forgotten land.

Immediately following the first news of an attack, before even the nuclear detonation, I implemented our government's emergency response plans. I immediately held out the hand of friendship to the stricken nation of Ghawkins, and I assured their president and their people that the Blackhelm Confederacy will do all in its power to ensure that those responsible for such evil acts will be brought to justice. Across this continent of Hesperidesia, I have given the order for our Frumentarii to round up those suspected of having ties to the Astyrian Liberation Army. Their names will be turned over to the intelligence services of Ghawkins, and if deemed valuable, they will be exported to that land without haste, and on our dime.

The search is underway for those who were behind these evil acts. I have directed the full resources of our intelligence and law enforcement communities to find those responsible and to bring them to justice. We will make no distinction between the terrorists who committed these acts and those who harbor them.

In order to make this point clear, on my orders, the Blackhelm Confederate military has begun strikes against ALA terrorist training camps and military installations in Kamalbia. These carefully targeted actions are designed to disrupt the use of Kamalbia as a terrorist base of operations, and to attack the military capability of the warlords who offer them their protection. We are joined in this operation by our staunch friend, the Scottopian Isles. Other close friends, including Zitru, the Dangish Empire, the Red River Free State, and nearly a dozen nations have all pledged forces, and we expect more to offer intelligence and logistical support as things unfold. Airstrikes started just moment ago, and the brave pilots of the Blackhelm Confederate Air Force, joined by their brothers from so many other nations, are currently making full use of our bases in Terre Azure to ensure that the revenge of this region is felt immediately and painfully on those who prosecute a war against the innocent of Astyria.

Airstikes will serve to disrupt their operations, but as we know, a war can not be won solely through the use of airstrikes alone. As such, I have order our soldiers based along the Kamalbian-Azuran border to cross over into Kamalbia territory, in order to bring about our stated goal of restoring law and order, and removing the corrosive influence of a vile terrorist organization from the nation.

At the same time, the oppressed people of Kamalbia will know the generosity of the EATA and our allies. As we strike military targets, we'll also drop food, medicine and supplies to the starving and suffering men and women and children of Kamalbia. We wish to make clear that we are a friend to the ordinary people of that nation, but we are an enemy to any who would take it upon themselves to harbor those who would so coldly commit acts of such violence upon a nation unprepared for war.

Today, great sacrifices are being made by members of our Armed Forces who now defend us so far from home, and by their proud and worried families. A Commander-in-Chief sends the Confederacy's sons into a battle in a foreign land only after the greatest care and a lot of prayer. We ask a lot of those who wear our uniform. We ask them to leave their loved ones, to travel great distances, to risk injury, even to be prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice of their lives. They are dedicated, they are honorable; they represent the best of our country. And we are grateful. To all the men and women in our military -- every sailor, every soldier, every airman, , every Marine, I say this: Your mission is defined; your objectives are clear; your goal is just. You have my full confidence, and you will have every tool you need to carry out your duty.

I appreciate so very much the members of Senate who have joined me in strongly condemning these attacks. And on behalf of the Confederate people, I offer their condolences and assistance to those affected by the madness and violence of this morning. The Blackhelm Confederacy and our friends and allies join with all those who want peace and security in the world, and we stand together to win the war against terrorism.

Tonight, I ask for your prayers for all those who grieve, for the children whose worlds have been shattered, for all whose sense of safety and security has been threatened. And I pray they will be comforted by a Power greater than any of us, spoken through the ages in Psalm 23:

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil for you are with me.

Thank you, and may the Lord watch over us all.

Good night

** Thanks to Ghawkins for joining me in the phone conversation!

[Red River Free State]

Acconia Air Base
Acconia, Red River Free State

"Alright men, this is it!" a tall officer with a close cropped, well maintained mustache shouted to his men as they stood assembled on the tarmac, his voice carrying over the rumbling of the aircraft all around him. "The Blackhelm Confederacy just declared a full on war on terror, and we are going to be right there on the front lines. Let us do our jobs with distinction, and show the whole world that the Red River Free State Special Air Services are the best in the region! It's about time we get out of the shadow of the big boys to the west, and show Astyria what we can do. Now let's do this!"

The men around him roared in unison before storming into the waiting AN-12 Cub to whisk them over the Mare Ferum and deposit them in Terre Azure. From there, they would join up with the 2nd Brigade of the Red River Regiment, six hundred men who would be taking off just a few hours later from the very same airport, before making their way to the Kamalbian border to link up with other troops of the coalition. These men, however, were not a part of the Regiment, but instead belonged to the 1st Squadron of the Red River SAS. These men were considered to be among the most elite counter-terror operatives in Eastern Astyria, and believed themselves the most elite in the world. There mission in the coming conflict was to disrupt enemy supply lines and launch missions designed and capturing or eliminating ALA leadership.

The final component of the Free State's contribution to the mission was in the form of 6 Atlas Cheetah C aircraft, comprising Echo Squadron of the FSAF. These aircraft were being deployed directly to Blacksand Air Base, and would be called upon to provide direct ground support for the advancing coalition troops as well as surgical strikes against enemy positions when deemed necessary. The Red River Free State's contribution might not have been the largest in the alliance, a mere 660 combat personnel and 6 strike fighters, but their expertise in their field as well as the skill and training that went into each and ever member of the military of the Free State meant that this small force would be able to make an impact well out of proportion to its size once the conflict on the ground was finally joined.

[Empire of Symphonia]

Imperial Palace of Relum
Hamasaka Ward, 000 St. Irene's Square
Metropolis of Symphony, Metropolitan Symphonia

Gaius, dressed in formal business attire, had been slightly nervous and even less slightly annoyed as the Aquitaynian diplomatic motorcade rolled through the streets of Symphony towards the imperial residence. There were more than a few crowds of people taking photos of the Aquitaynian motorcade, flanked by several Metropolitan policemen on motorcycles. Such high profile travel was something he disliked, preferring a more quiet type of diplomacy that suited his tastes. Such a reserved disposition that the Aquitaynian Foreign Ministry required of him while in service, however was at odds with the reverberations of Symphonia's political scene.

As the other member of the United Kingdom, Symphonia's internal political rancor were something that Gaius had known firsthand. With King Samuel having directly intervened in the political discourse of the Asian Federation, the Aquitaynians knew that any further action would alienate the ruling Crown Democratic Party even more. Not that the United Kingdom was in danger of falling apart within a single reign of a monarch, but a rift in policy that would isolate Symphonia diplomatically and leave it in a less than happy situation. The disconnect between the Celestial Throne and West Genevira was something that was already well discussed, from what Gaius heard from his colleagues back home.

The motorcade neared the imperial residence, the stone gardens of the St. Irene's Square opening up before the great wooden arch that showed entrance into the imperial grounds. The motorcade passed under, the palace guard closing the red gates behind them and the security vehicles peeling off as the motorcade stopped at the end of the roundabout closest to the entrances. Already the honor guard was called out and waiting, servicemen from each of the AFN's constituent members lining the staircase and saluting Gaius as he made his way up.

"Mr. Ambassador," said a portly man as he bowed slightly," The Emperor, Empress, and the Prime Minister are waiting expecting your visit. Please follow me."

Without a word, the two set off, passing through the ornate corridors, arriving before a wooden, paper panel door. The voices inside were unmistakably that of the three who had summoned him, the voice of the Empress ringing through the door before the three of them quieted down just in time for the door to be opened.

"Your Imperial Highness, His Excellency the Ambassador of Aquitayne."

Just before he entered the room however, the guide whispered quietly to the man behind him.

"The Imperial Household Agency requests that any discussions about Insula Fera be avoided."

The ambassador eyed the butler wearily, before nodding curtly. As Gaius strode into the room, the Symphonian monarchs and Prime Minister vi Contruum were already seated at the table, cups of tea already set before them and before the seat where he assumed he would be sitting.

"Gaius, it is a pleasure to meet you again," Seondeok said with a smile, "We were discussing the possibility of terrorist elements within the borders of the United Kingdom, given the attack on that refinery in Metropolitan Aquitayne, and now we hear from what is coming out from GHawkins."

The sound of shifting chairs filled the room as the ambassador sat himself down next to the prime minister, opposite of the emperor.

"Yes, given from what we have heard at the embassy, I am sure that Aquitayne would be glad of any help that could be received in catching those criminals."

UK Imperial Procession
Telora, Arcil Region
Metropolitan Aquitayne, United Kingdom

Adelina smiled and waved to the crowds from inside of the open-top sedan which she was riding in, the crowds waving Aquitaynian flags and taking many pictures as the motorcade passed them along a planned route from the airport. Beside her, Akatsuki and Ryuu smiled widely and waved as well.

With the perceived fear of Symphonia's unilateralism in the region, the time had perhaps come for Symphonia's royalty to patch up the mess that had been left behind in the wake of the Prudensia Question. The imperial visit to Aquitayne, among others, had been proposed Adelina herself, not only as a way to give herself and her brothers more time to become recognized, but to also strengthen support for the United Kingdom in Aquitayne, where some citizens were demanding the government terminate the union as a result of the continuing occupation of the territory. With the House of Kiramashi nominally heads of state for the United Kingdom, the most important visit had to be reserved for meeting with their Aquitaynian subjects. The itinerary had already included with a first visit of Aquitayne's parliament where the Princess would address the entire body, and over the course of the next month travel around the visit each of the state capitals of Aquitayne's regions, with a longer holdover at Helm to commemorate the lives lost during the Commissar War as well as the lives given to defend the city.

After this, the imperial procession would move onto the Vizion, the Dangish Empire, and eventually the Far West countries of Trellin and Neu Engollen.

For now though, the imperial procession continued its slow drive towards the Parliament building.

[Scottopian Isles]

Undisclosed location
Western Scottopian Straits, Mare Ferum
International Waters

Underneath the waves, the crew of the RSN Repunkamui; S12 awaited the expected order. The Astute Class vessel was the top of the line of Scottopian submarines, and her crew was just as elite being led by Captain McMorsby who currently paced the deck of the command center. He gazed at the display clock which illuminated the technician face who sat in front of it. With a half minute to go, he prepped his team a final time with a weapon systems check before bringing the MS2S Trident Missiles online. The targets, hundreds of miles away in Kamalbia, had already been pre-selected in the intial stages since the EATA declaration. Finally, the time had arrived as he declared for the launch of the Tridents to begin the opening stages of the operation.

Within a fraction of a second, a duo of missiles had erupted from the water and lobbed into the air, pitching slightly before the secondary stage ignited taking them off into the skies as they arched across the horizon. In a matter of time, the third stage would commence where the warheads would depart from the weapons fusalage before the navagation systems chimmed into the pre-set coordinates and rain down upon 2 dozen targets that housed Astyrian Liberation Army fighters & facilities. Simultaneously, the RSN Condatis; S04 had also fired a pair of Tridents which brought a total of 48 warheads that now streaked towards various targets in the conflict plagued country.

Within a quarter hour, the payloads had impacted across a wide assortment of targets in Northern Kamalbia. While some slammed into suspected ammunition depots & vehicle warehouses, others hit known buildings that were used for the day to day operations of the terrorist organization, and intended to criple their stability as well as their ability to fight the international coalition that was coming after them.

EATA Exclusion Zone
Kamalbia Airspace


The wind filled the rear compartment of the aircraft as the TL6-Hoku opened its cargo door & deployed a parachute while soaring across the dark night sky. A series of the planes held within their bays soldiers of the Scottopian Armies 25th Airbourne Division, 44th Brigade along with a number of 17C-Chitals, the island nations armored fighting vehicles, to help them in the upcoming missions. They had departed Blacksands AFB back in Terre Azure a few hours previously and were about to be on the forefront of the fight against the Astyrian Liberation Army for their deadly attack upon the citizens of GHawkins.

The loadmaster of aircraft issued a guesture of hand movements towards the front where flgiht enginner pulled a set of straps. The platforms of which the APC's where stationed to began to move towards the back, being pulled by the parachute, and quickly sped up as the trio of Chitals exited the TL6-Hoku. Within seconds of its departure, the soldiers stepped up and attached their hooks the cable that ran the length of the cabin before running out into the abyss.

Other sets of airbourne troops had already left their planes dropping towards the ground, the 17C-Chitals dropping a short distance in front of them. Covering the aircraft, were SAF-11 Cyclones, the Scottopian Air Forces close support aircraft, also good for recon missions. As they continued flying with the Transport Aircraft, the soldiers continued to fall to earth, before deploying their parachutes after reching a certin altitude. Below, the dark ground began to alight with small arms fire as the terrorists began to realize the Scottopians had dropped into a strategic position intercepting settlements & highways on the coastal peninsuala, engaging them with surprise by dropping from above where as they had been expecting a coastal or ground assualt.

[Nation of Jafala]

General Ghaza Kali was being summoned for deployment to Port Blacksand once again, and once again he was not happy to be doing so for the benefit of his white former overlords and their cronies. The one good thing was that at least this time, he did not need to drive past the throngs of fellow Jafalans cheering on his deployment, oblivious of their own history like he did when he went to seize that foreign city from its tyrannical priest-ruler. This time, he would be deployed under the cover of darkness, and he and his 1st Amphibious Brigade would be sent in to do the dirty work of seizing the base of the base of the Fesenbunuil, while the Scottopian military went about seizing the main city further north. Another relief, Kali thought. He wouldn't be anywhere near those damned Confederates, or even worse the vile Free Staters.

"Do none of these people know their history, Umtafi?" the general spoke to his aide. Umtafi shook his head "They are too young, Ghaza. When we fought against the white men, we were just young men, many of these peoples parents were only small children, if they were even born at all. Do not blame them"

"I blame our President. He was a soldier, he fought with us, he should know better"

"We dont know where he fought...for all we know he was one of the Embamba"

The general shot a fierce glance at his second. "Never say those words again. Never slander our president in such a way. We may disagree with him, but never.."

Umtafi's eyes widened a bit at the visceral reaction of his superior. "Yes sir, my apologies, of course not. He was surely a proud revolutionary, like the rest of us"

Hours later, the group was on the ground. The Confederates had arranged everything for them, including the delivery of their landing ships, which they found waiting for them in the harbor. A few hours more, and the entire battalion was piled into their vessels and making way across the small body of water seperating them from their final destination. They did not expet much in terms of resistance from the local warlords, although they had been briefed that there were a number of elite mercenaries in the service of their new foe. This worried them little, however, as they also knew that they had the full air support of the Blackhelm, Free State, Scottopian, and Zitran air forces behind them, ready to send in bombs and missiles against any positions that seemed a bit too sticky for the men of Jafala.

Once forcing their landing, the men would proceed to spread out, severing the strip of land jutting out into the Mare Ferum from the mainland, and in doing so ensuring that any ALA personnel attempting to flee south would not make it very far. The 1st Amphibious were among the best in a nation of lions, and they were determined to prove their mettle today. What they lacked in heavy weapons and armour they would make up in drive and personal fierceness, and even now, as they bobbed over the waves, many joked that they felt sorry for the poor Kamalbians who stood in the way of the Pride of Hesperidesia.

[Cote dCuivre]

The military of Cote d'Cuivre, much like those of the rest of the Hesperidesian states, was now again on the move, making its way across the Mare Ferum towards Port Blacksand, a place where many brave warrior lost their lives just a few short years ago. That had been the first overseas deployment ever in the nation's history, and now these recruits would follow on in the footsteps of their historic brethren, heading to the foreign city before making their way over the border to bring peace and stability to the troubled land of Kamalbia. The Cuivrans would serve an especially significant place, much as they had during the invasion of Terre Azure, as they had for the most part spoke French as their mother tongue, and would have a unique ability to converse freely with many of the locals, particularly those who remained closer to their former Gaulic overlords.

The force chosen for this mission was the men of the 1er Bataillon des Commandos Parachutistes, 1,460 men in all who were considered among the very best and most elite that Cuivre had to offer. The first time the Cuivran military was deployed, these men missed the action, the government instead opting to utilize the much more conventional 3e Bataillon d’infanterie des forces armées terrestres cuivrennes, but not today. This war called for a much different style of fighting, as it was not simple urban occupation and police duties, but large scale land grabs and conflict over open territory, with the sporadic village fighting here and there. This was an area in which these men excelled.

They all filed into the transport aircraft that the Blackhelm Confederacy had arranged for them, and within hours were carried to their staging grounds in the desert backlands of Terre Azure. From the airport, they would then link up with their white skinned brothers from the Red River Free State, and together the joint Hesperidesian airborne corps would move in support of the larger force of the nation of Zitru. Together, the Cuivrans, Free Staters, and Zitrans would plunge into the territory of the warlord known as Tristan Busque, intent on eliminating any potential ALA influence in the region.